


Half Dead Smiles

by Keepinthekidsalive



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Danger Days Era Mikey, Death of a Bachelor era Brendon, Domestic Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, Folie à Deux era Pete, M/M, Pete’s a little too submissive, Physical Abuse, Sorry but Mikey abuses Pete, Trust Issues, might introduce other characters as the story goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2019-10-23 11:43:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 56,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17682803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keepinthekidsalive/pseuds/Keepinthekidsalive
Summary: Pete is trapped in an abusive relationship with Mikey and it’s just become the reality he accepts, but when Mikey’s friend, Brendon, comes over he suspects something’s off. He attempts to be around the house more to see if his suspicions are true and could unknowingly be Pete’s only ticket out of this hell hole.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I’ve ever written, so don’t be afraid to comment anything you notice that seems off or needs to be changed. I also don’t see a whole lot of Brendon/Pete fics, but it’s just an idea I’ve always entertained so if you know a more well known ship name aside from Brete please tell me. First chapter’s a bit short, but I’m still trying to get the feel of things.

Pete

I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him the entire night. His smile, the way his eyes crinkled, his arm around my shoulders, I couldn’t help but lean into him. I know he doesn’t like to be stared at, so I tried to only look at him when his head was turned. He caught me a few times and I could see his grin falter, but moments like those came so rarely, I couldn’t help myself. He just doesn’t smile as much as I wish he did.

Michael’s friend seemed nice, but I didn’t like how I kept catching him look at me. I suppose that’s a bit hypocritical since I was doing the same with Michael, but this was different. He wasn’t smiling when he looked at me. Maybe he didn’t like me. It was the first time I’d ever met Brendon, but I’d heard Michael talk about him a few times. I’m not sure how long they’ve known each other, I’m not the best with paying attention. 

I clean up in the kitchen as Brendon makes his way to the door with Michael right behind him. They talk for a bit before saying goodbye and I even hear him say bye to me from the doorway as Michael closes him out. This was a good night and Brendon seemed to like the pasta I made. It was pretty last minute, I would have gotten something better if I knew he was coming. Michael only told me after he got home, so I had to rush to find something that would be big enough for three people and I didn’t know if Brendon had a girlfriend or boyfriend to join him.

Perhaps he didn’t know Michael was gay and was surprised to see me. I hope I didn’t just ruin their friendship, Brendon didn’t seem bothered by it. Although with the looks he was giving, I couldn’t really tell. Maybe he’s just one of those people that always looks deep in thought. I’m not sure if he’s straight or not and I’m afraid if I ask Michael he’ll think I’m interested in him. That’s what he thought with Patrick and I haven’t seen or heard about him since.

I was a little nervous with Brendon however, Michael’s other friend, Gabe, didn’t usually come over to just “have dinner”. Gabe usually shows up early before Michael comes home whenever they plan to hang out and corners me in the bedroom. He’s so tall and overpowering, tears well up just thinking about him.

I’m drawn from my thoughts at the sound of Michael making his way back to the kitchen. I’ve learned by now from the sound of his steps when he was in a rush and that was never good. Normally after an exhausting night he would eat, maybe talk a little bit depending on his mood, and then slowly meander up the stairs to our room to sleep. These weren’t slow pleasant steps like I would have expected though. He didn’t complain about the food, there were no arguments, and he didn’t even squeeze my wrist or give me a bad look to tell me to stop doing something. 

“Fucking _spaghetti_? Are you serious? Jesus, you might as well grab a damn pacifier and tell him your three fucking years old!” Michael yells as he enters the kitchen, but I keep my back to him and continue putting plates into the dishwasher.  
“Pete, look at me.” Michael orders sternly. I bite my gums and slowly turn.

His hand grips my bicep before I can turn all the way and he pushes my body into the counter. A line of pain traces my lower back to copy the sharp edge of the countertop, but I hide it by gripping the tile instead.

“And why the fuck were you staring at me so goddamn much? Actually no, why was Brendon staring at you!?” Michael asks, closing the already small space in between us.  
“I... I don’t know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sta-stare at you! You just looked really nice tonight and,” I look up at the veins in his neck and make it up to his jawline, but I can’t go any further.  
“Look me in the fucking eyes! Why was he staring at you?” He orders, anger boiling in his throat.  
“I really don’t know! I’m sorry, I won’t look at him again.”

His fingers lace themselves around my collar as he pulls me two steps back.  
“Oh I know you won’t.” He spits as he throws me to the ground. I try to brake my fall with my forearm, but it does little to protect my temple as it connects with the hard tile. 

“Don’t hit your head! Jesus Christ, Peter get the fuck up.” He commands as I scramble to get up with one arm and grip my forehead with the other. “I can’t have your pretty little face getting bruised up.”

Confusion and pain clouds my thoughts. I can tell he’s still mad, but he obviously cares about me enough to falter his insults. I attempt to get up, but my head swings like a pendant with all hope for balance thrown out the window. I merely sit up on one hand and flinch away as Michael kicks me in the stomach. 

“I told you to get up you fucking pussy!” Michael yells as I curl in on myself, gripping my bruised abdomen.  
“I... I’m so sorry, Michael. I-“  
“It’s _sir_ , show some,” Michael kneels down and yanks my head up by my hair. “Goddamn respect!”

I wince at my aching hairline right before he slams my head back against the cold tile. He never punches me in the face, only hits the back of my head where my hair can cover up the bruises. _Sir_ doesn’t like to see the bruises and neither do I, so I make sure to cover them up for him. Despite avoiding a broken nose, it still hurts like hell. My vision is briefly cut off, but the pain still heavily lingers. My eyes flutter open to see his blurred legs standing up.

“fu... ing...whore.” Is all I can make out as the thumping in my head becomes my main focus. My eye lids give in and close as a strangely hot liquid drips over my lips. The copper taste gives it away as blood, but there’s not much I can do about it. I just pray that this will be the last thing I feel and never wake up. That the distant zipping isn’t Sir undoing his pants and that I won’t have to be limping through the next few days, sore and aching all over.


	2. “Happiness” In       Misery

Brendon

Mikey kind of closed the door in my face, but he probably just didn’t hear me. I mean I did already say goodbye to him, he probably didn’t expect me to say something to Pete last minute. I wish I could have gotten to know Pete some more, but he wasn’t exactly a socialite. He mainly sat there and smiled with his hand touching Mikey in some way. He also called him “Michael” which I found odd, but maybe he didn’t like to call him “Mikey”. I guess it does sound a bit little kiddish when he’s your boyfriend and all. 

I hadn’t really heard a lot about Pete though. I’ve only known Mikey for about two months, but I figured he would have said something about Pete. He seemed like an amazing guy, very patient with my rambling and a pretty good cook. I wanted to help him clear off the table, but he insisted and then Mikey distracted me with the door. 

I just couldn’t shake the feeling that something seemed... off. Pete’s hands shook the entire time I was there and I wouldn’t have notice if he didn’t nearly drop the plates as he set the table. Pete hardly touched his food and whenever he did, made sure to cover his mouth with his hand or napkin. Any time I would look at him, his eyes fell to the floor or the wall behind me as if to cover up the fact he was looking at me. He mainly stared at Mikey, but they never looked straight at each other. Whenever Mikey looked back at him his smile faltered and Pete’s eyes found something else to focus on.

It just seemed like I was missing something. I suppose all couples are different and work in their own way, but their relationship just didn’t click to me. Most people I meet light up a room when they’re together and can play off of what their partner says. I expected Pete to be finishing his sentences as Mikey tried to tell a story like other couples I’ve met do, but all he did was quietly sit there and offer drinks to us when our cups were empty. Like he was content with serving us and just having the company. 

I suppose that’s a good relationship, generous and polite to not only your boyfriend, but also your guests. The only thing is that as a person, Pete seemed uncomfortable and not just with me. I’d like to get to know him more, maybe he’s just shy with new people. I can understand that.

Mikey had been dodging my requests to come back over for nearly two weeks before finally giving in. I rolled up to their apartment a little early with traffic actually cooperating for once. There was only one car stalling at the green light, but he made his way without even a single beeping horn. 

Their place was nice, small but fitting for them. I’m sure it was expensive as hell even with the closed in living quarters. Brick steps lined with thick concrete railings big enough to sit on. There was even a small tree with a complimenting bush below it to break away from the surrounding concrete beside the railing. There was a window behind the thin tree, but curtains blocked any view from the inside.

I probably should have texted Mikey to let him know I came a little early, but this will give us time to talk a bit more before dinner. My knuckles tap the door twice as I take out my buzzing phone. As if he could read my mind I see Mikey’s name typed out with a text.

**Mikey W** :Hey I’m running a little late, but should be on time.

Fuck I hope Pete’s home then, I don’t wanna just look like some creep standing on their doorway waiting for one of them. I begin to type my reply, but I notice the flap of one of the curtains in the corner of my eye. Well, someone must be home and that someone has to be Pete unless there’s a secret kid I also don’t know about. 

The door slowly opens, but stops only a sliver due to the taught chain locking it in place. I see wide eyes peeking up at me under black fringe and holy fuck they’re nearly golden from the light behind me hitting them. The dark rings almost fade into a light brown laced with green and an almost orange tint circling the black holes of pupils. I didn’t get to fully see them before, Pete wouldn’t look at me then. How can someone change such a common and overlooked eye color into that? 

This brief eye contact only lasts mere seconds to my disappointment as they migrate down my collar instead. I still have a nice view of the spellbinding orbs, but his eyelashes do a good job at hiding them. 

“Hey Pete, I’m a little early, sorry about that. I should have texted Mikey to let him know, but he just sent me a message anyway,” I say with a grin once my mouth finally catches up with my brain. “Is it cool if I come in?”  
“Um... well Si-Michael doesn’t really like people coming in when he’s not home... I don’t know if I can.” Pete mutters with taught eyebrows as if he’s confessing a broken vase to his mom.

I’m not really sure what to say, I haven’t been in this kind of situation since I was a kid sneaking over to a friend’s house without his mom knowing. Is this something people around here do? This seemed like a good neighborhood, I wouldn’t expect many robberies.

“Well, it’s just me. I was here a couple of weeks ago,” I offer with what I assume is a trustworthy shrug. “You know, Brendon? I was Mikey’s friend and you made spaghetti.”  
“Ye-yeah I remember, I just... Michael doesn’t like people coming in without him is all.”

I consider his reasoning, but it’s just not right. I didn’t expect to be his immediate friend, but I figured I would be allowed in under the circumstances. In fact, it’s a bit rude. If I were a stranger I’d understand and probably do the same thing, but I’m not some criminal or homeless psychopath looking to rob this little guy.

“Well, Pete, I don’t want to just stand out here waiting.” I say more directly than I mean to be.  
“Oh... yeah that’s true.” He seems to be trying to look behind me and it’s almost like his thoughts are stuttering as well. I don’t mean to stress him out, Jesus.

His fingers knot together for a moment as he shifts his eyes to the window before he finally closes the door without another word. For a moment I think that’s it and I’ll just be sitting on the steps until Mikey rolls up, but then the door inches back open even more than before to my surprise.

Pete opens the door completely open, but instead of a welcoming “come on in” I receive a silent nod as he keeps his hands gripping the door as far away from me as possible. I take a few steps inside and look around the small foyer. Still the same pictures on the walls of buildings and even a few of Mikey and what I’m guessing is his family on the bookshelf. 

I don’t see any of Pete, but I didn’t really pay much attention to the decorations the first time I was here. I turn around to see him fumble with the locks, his hands shaking beyond the normal “nervousness” or “low blood sugar”. 

“So, Mikey should be home soon, but I could get you a drink.” Pete offers as he turns, holding shoulder. “Or something to eat if-if you want.”  
“No, I’m good. We didn’t really get much of a chance to talk last time I was here though.” 

He actually kind of pauses at that, almost in confusion it seems. Pete leads me to the couch in the living room, but rushes in before me to grab an unfolded blanket that was left sitting on the cushion.

“Sorry for the mess, here I’ll get it.” Pete hurriedly folds blanket as I sit down.  
“Oh are you kidding? This place looks great. I wish my big mess was just a blanket.” I laugh, which gains a quick smirk from Pete. The mission is to get a laugh out of him before I leave and I plan on staying as long as it takes. 

“I was just watching this movie and I forgot I had it.” Pete says like he’s defending himself.  
“I mean it’s not really a problem. Dude, if you want it just have it.” I sit with a light gesture to the blanket in his hands.  
“Well, Michael doesn’t really like them laying around anyway and he should be here soon so,” Pete starts as he goes around and places the blanket neatly under an end table beside the couch.

He’s doing a lot of running around and disappears into the kitchen only to return with a glass of water he offers me. I accept it, but stop him from continuing to arrange the pillows on the other couch. 

“Hey, so how long have you and Mikey been together?” I ask before taking a sip of water.  
“Um, two years, almost three in a few months.” He stops with a pillow in his hand and sits on the other couch.  
“That’s really nice, I’ve only known Mikey for a few weeks. He seems like a good guy though,” I notice Pete tighten his lips at that before smiling. “I’ve heard so much about you.”  
“Really?” No. Pete’s grin wavers, almost like he’s unsure of how to react.

“Yeah, but I didn’t know you were such a good cook. I had to come back for more.” I laugh.  
“Oh, well I didn’t actually kn-know you were coming over until that night. I always try to make foods Sir likes and,”  
“Sir?” I interrupt, I thought he almost said that earlier, but I wasn’t sure.  
“I meant Michael, sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to what I was saying...” Pete trails off, but returns to staring at the floor and picking at the loose string in the cushion he’s on.

“Yeah, but why would you call him _Sir_?” I’m not trying to call him out or anything, he seems to have some kind of speech impediment, but I honestly want to know.  
“He just... Michael doesn’t like it when I call him Mi-Mikey or Michael.” Pete pauses and seems to be regretting his mistake, but there’s no turning back now. “He likes to be called Sir more and I don’t mind if it will make him happy.”

This isn’t right at all, I can already tell and I don’t want to call bullshit on Pete defending him, but Sir? Seriously? What is he a fucking Knight?

“Well he doesn’t have a problem with me calling him Mikey or anyone at work.” I counter, mainly just testing to see if this obviously fucked up relationship is true.  
“It’s just if I say it, you know like it’s disrespectful since I’m his boyfriend.”  
“Does he call you Sir in return then?”  
“Well, n-no... but he deserves respect. I don’t really wanna t-talk about it anymore, Sir.” Pete concludes and focuses on the tv even though it’s just a meaningless commercial.

“Please, don’t call me Sir. Just Brendon is fine, but I’d like to talk about it actually.” I begin and set my drink down onto a neatly placed cupholder.  
Pete merely clenches his jaw and remains transfixed on the screen.  
“Pete, what happens if you call Mikey by his name? You called him Michael last time I was here.”  
“I can call him that only if we’re around other people.” His voice sounds hollow as he replies, knowing what they do isn’t right, but not wanting to admit it.

“Right, but what happens if you call him by his name?” I repeat.  
Pete brings his knee up and rests his forehead on it, almost whispering.  
“I don’t want to talk about it, please.”  
“I’m sorry, Pete, I didn’t mean to upset you or anything. This just doesn’t seem right, couples don’t do this.”  
“I know but... it isn’t so bad. O-other people have it much worse. This is fine and I-I love Mikey...” Pete’s voice cracks a bit on the word love as he continues to stare at his jeans. “And- and he loves me too... I know he does.”

I think of asking him whether Mikey has ever told him that, but I can tell he’s broken up enough about it. I don’t wanna push him, this isn’t some interrogation and if anyone’s guilty it seems to be Mikey.

I slowly get up and take the two steps toward the other couch, but Pete quickly snatches his other leg up and grips his head to hide it.

“No! I’m sorry, I’m not crying! I’m- I’m not, I’m s-sorry Sir!” He chokes out.  
“Whoa, no Pete it’s alright. It’s fine, you can cry I didn’t mean to do this.” I rest a hand on the couch’s armrest and attempt to touch his shoulder with my other hand. 

He flinches under me, but there’s no room for him to get away from my touch. His shoulders heave with almost inaudible sobs and his fingers tighten around his sleeve. 

“Cryings okay, Pete. It’s okay.” I whisper in the most comforting voice I can manage.”  
“N-no it’s not. Sir ha-hates it when I cry.” Pete shudders as I move my hand up and down his arm. “I’m so sorry.”  
“No, don’t be sorry. If anything, I should be. I shouldn’t have brought it up, but I didn’t think it’d lead to this.”

I pause and think for a moment. No. I shouldn’t be sorry. Pete definitely shouldn’t be sorry. The only person that should be is Mikey. He’s the one that did this and I don’t care what he thinks Pete did to deserve this. He’s obviously wrecked because of what Mikey says to him and I’m sure there’s physical shit that goes on too.

I kneel down so I’m not just awkwardly half bent- trying to comfort the poor guy, but he shoots up to his feet as soon as I’m at his level. I slide back to give him space as he wipes his reddening eyes. Fuck those eyes, what did I do to them? They shouldn’t be crinkled up trying to avoid being seen. 

“I-I’m sorry, I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” Pete snivels as he quickly rushes to the bathroom. I’m left there on the floor a little shocked.

I can’t help feeling a little guilty, but what the _fuck_? Mikey seemed like a good guy. A little quiet, but once I got to know him he was fine. We could talk for hours and joke around not knowing he came home and became a complete asshole to the man he should love. The man he should be laughing with not insulting or arguing. Not scaring or yelling at. And Pete said he hates it when he cries. This must have happened multiple times, but why? How? Pete was so nice and seemed to do everything Mikey wanted. Even fucking called him Sir. 

Mikey wasn’t even around and he called him Sir. How much was that shit drilled into his head to call him that even though he wasn’t in earshot? Psychologically Pete was fucked and Mikey did that. _My_ friend did that. I thought my judgement was better than this. I’m frankly a little disappointed in myself for not seeing it sooner.

The way he flinched away, how he wouldn’t even look at me, like he was _scared_ of me. _Me_. Like I’m as bad as Mikey. I could never hurt Pete. I barely knew this man, but my head was already spinning with ideas on how I could get him out of here. I could call the cops, but would they believe me? I barely know either of them and what if Mikey bullshits his way out of it. Pete’s so goddamn warped I’m not sure if he’d tell the cops the truth. 

I don’t even know all of the details yet anyway. I know they at least argue and the whole _Sir_ thing is fucked up, but is that really enough for the cops to do anything? All I know is that Mikey has made Pete cry before, but I can practically already hear the cops sighing and turning away from my report. It’s nothing. I have _nothing_ , but fuck if I’m not going to try and get something.

I hear the lock on the front door twist and the door thud with the sudden jangle of the chain straining like it had done for me. Loud knocks echo through the foyer as my breath catches.

“Peter! Open the goddamn door!” Mikey yells through the crack. “The chains supposed to be down by now!”

I hear shuffling from the bathroom, but get up before Pete can come out. I make my way to the now shut door and slide the chain back hesitantly. I really don’t want to let him in, I don’t want to let him near Pete within a hundred mile radius, but I know I have to. 

_You can’t go to the cops yet, you’ve got nothing._

I open the door to see Mikey running a hand through his hair, looking to the window before noticing me. His eyebrows raise slightly in confusion, but a slight smile grows across his face. I play along with it no matter how much I want to punch those white pellets out of this scumbag’s mouth. 

_Be nice, Brendon, even if he’s not._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually do like writing this and I hope you guys enjoy reading it. Comments are always welcome and kudos are appreciated! Thanks for reading


	3. The Only Thing I Haven’t Done Yet Is Die

Pete

The door closes with a thud behind me as my shaking hands rest on the basin. I avoid the mirror with shuddered breaths and try to regain some type of composure. It feels as if heat is just radiating from my face with acidic tears burning trails down my cheeks. Tears. What the fuck? No I can’t fucking cry, I’ve gotta stop. Sir hates it when I cry. He says it’s pussy shit and he’s right. 

I’m so goddamn weak, what’s wrong with me? Why can’t I be like him? Just be strong and stop being so goddamn sensitive. 

Despite my efforts, I still taste the all too familiar sting of salt on my lips. I sputter in a last ditch effort to possibly drag the emotions running down my chin back behind my eyes where they belong. The warmth runs down to my chest and I can feel it before the heaving even begins. 

I bite down on my sleeve as I sit in front of the toilet, tucked into the corner. If I could just disappear here, only for a little bit. Just pause everything that’s happening so I can have some time for this to pass before Sir gets home. 

I cry into my sweater, not caring if the tears soak it as long as they just leave. They’re like invaders, I kick them out on the bad nights when Sir’s asleep or when he leaves for work, but they always manage to tunnel they’re way back behind my eyes. They escape only at the worst possible times and I fucking hate it. 

Why did Brendon ask those questions? Does he like seeing people like this? I know our relationship’s a little messed up, but we still love each other. He wasn’t like this before and some days I catch glimpses of how he was when we first met. Back when he was “Mikey” and not “Michael” or “Sir”. He seemed so shy and his voice was so soft I could have never imagined it being raised at anyone. 

Thinking of this man nearly makes me smile until I hear the distant metal chime of the chain on the door. My ears have been trained to hear that noise even if I had earbuds in blasting Metallica upstairs. I stagger to my feet before hearing the echo of knocks and his voice yelling through the thin walls.

“Peter! Open the goddamn door! The chains supposed to be down by now!”

_Peter_. Oh shit he’s really pissed off, he only calls me that if I’ve really fucked up. He’s right though, the chain should be down. I just... Brendon came and I forgot and- fuck, my face. 

I stare at my reflection to see my eyes red with matching flushed cheeks. My eyebrows tautly dented to complete the truly pathetic look. I attempt to lightly wash my face with some water, like they do in the movies, but it never does anything. My face is still steaming, just a little damp with something other than tears.

I run a hand through my hair to cover up the faded bruise from the last time Brendon was over and hope it doesn’t gain a friend tonight. My arm and shoulder where still hurting from that visit too and I could really feel it when Brendon was rubbing my arm, but I could tell he was trying to calm me. He probably doesn’t like it when people cry either. 

I take in a few more breaths until it seems like there’s only a slight catch in them before opening the door. I pick up my step, hoping he’s not going to be mad that Brendon is already here. Oh god, I should’ve started dinner. Why didn’t I at least take out the steaks? I hope it doesn’t take too long, but maybe if I start now it won’t and he’ll be happy with it.

I pass through the kitchen and find Sir talking with Brendon who gestures to me as I enter.  
“See, there he is.” Fuck they were talking about me.  
“Oh there you are,” Sir walks up, putting his hand out. “I was wondering why Brendon was the one at the door.” 

Although he’s grinning, my arm still flinches away without meaning to, but he takes my shoulder anyway. His hand grips it harshly and I hold back a wince by biting my gums. 

“It was certainly surprising,” Sir smiles and lets my shoulder go. “I thought I was going to get here later actually, the line at the farmer’s market was insane.”  
“H-how was work?” I ask as he quickly kisses my forehead and places his small bag of fruit on the floor beside me.  
“Almost deleted an entire report, so a little shitty.” Fuck.

Brendon distracts him with more questions about it, probably curious since they work at the same company. I take out the steaks and potatoes to make up for the time I’ve already lost and start cooking. They actually stay in the kitchen which surprises me, I figured they would have retreated into the living room by now. It’s nice hearing them talk though and seeing Sir smile.

That’s one thing I like about Brendon, he always finds some way to make you laugh. Sir is usually hard to break when it comes to smiling, let alone laughing. I don’t even remember the last time I made him laugh on purpose. In fact the last time he laughed because of me might have been when he pushed me and I tripped down the stairs, but I don’t really count that. I don’t want to remember it anyway. 

I wish I was as funny as Brendon or at least had more stories like him. My stories aren’t that great and I can’t remember half of them anyway. Besides, Sir’s heard all of mine and not much happens around the house aside from a new episode of some show or seeing the neighbor’s cat outside.

I go to set the table while the potatoes finish cooking on the stove, but Brendon jumps up and takes the plates from me.

“Here, let me get that.” He offers with a smirk.  
“Oh, you don’t have to,” I try to take the plates back, but he’s already turning back to the table. “O-ok...”

Sir briefly gives Brendon a confused look as he places them around the table. I stand there, unsure of what to do at first. He follows me to the forks and knives and takes those as well. It’s really strange, but I try to look at it as a nice gesture. 

He’s a guest though, he shouldn’t have to do that and from the look Sir’s giving me he must be thinking the same thing. I can’t really do much to stop him though and I hope Sir understands that. 

While Brendon busies himself with placing napkins and forks, I get the steaks off the stove and onto a plate to at least feel like I’m doing something. I join them at the table and Sir actually seems to like the food. _Thank god_.

Brendon actually asks me some questions, but Sir doesn’t seem to be paying much attention when that happens. I just give a few nods in reply to keep the conversation between them. I don’t want Sir thinking Brendon likes me more than him. He’s _his_ friend after all.

Although I like Brendon, I really do, I’m not sure if I actually trust him. I don’t like how he reacted when we were talking earlier. I just wish I had kept my mouth shut, but I completely broke down. What if Brendon says something to Sir? He’ll be so pissed when he finds out I said all of that and ended up crying. Brendon seriously cannot tell a soul or my life will be pushed further into hell than it already is.

Once dinner’s finally over with, I stack their empty plates and balance mine on top since there’s more than half a steak left. I try to eat light for Sir, he doesn’t like seeing me chew and wants to keep me in shape. I can understand that though, but Brendon looks more than displeased at my nearly full plate. He luckily doesn’t say anything and before he can get up to grab the remaining dishes, Sir grabs his shoulder with a stern look. Shit. I know that look. That’s his upset yet suspicious look like he can’t decide whether to be mad or just disappointed. The look is wiped clean and he returns to his reserved state.

“So, Brendon, what’d you guys do before I got here?” Sir asks and Brendon settles back into his seat.  
“Oh not much, I’d barely gotten here when you showed up.”Brendon subtly takes his arm back. “We just talked about me being early and where you might be.”

“Peter, you just let him in?” Sir turns his head to me with a lowered brow. My hands stop bagging my leftover steak at the name “Peter”.  
“Ye-Yeah, but I told him you don’t like people being here without you and,” I still don’t turn to face him and keep my shaking hands busy with the bag again.  
“No, I kind of let myself in honestly.” Brendon intervenes. “Yeah Pete really didn’t want to let me in, but I wouldn’t stop bugging him about it.”

Sir seems to relax a bit at this news, but he still doesn’t seem to completely believe Brendon. They slowly return to their normal banter while I finish up with the dishes. Sir guides Brendon out like he did last time, but Brendon lingers for a little while longer. He even says that he’s fine with staying for a while and steals a glance at me on the couch. Sir cuts that off quickly and claims he’s gotta get to bed since we both have a big day tomorrow. I’ve heard of no such day.

I’m not stupid enough to ask what’s happening tomorrow in front of Brendon. I can tell it’s a lie to get him to leave but, shit I really don’t want him to. When he’s around, I can get longer glances at the past Sir. At _Mikey_. Plus seeing them both smile and Sir not seeming so angry all the time feels so nice. Just being in the same room with them brightens my day. Just being around Brendon eases the tension that usually hangs thick in the house.

It’s not that I like Brendon more than Sir, he’s just nice to have around. Like a massive shield or some sort of security blanket that he settles over the building without realizing it. He also hasn’t hit me and that’s nice. But he’s nearly as tall as Sir and looks stronger actually. Plus, if they’re friends then he can’t be much different right? Brendon just seems more skilled when it comes to hiding it or maybe I haven’t made him mad enough yet. Perhaps it’s like when you have two negatives together and it makes a positive like my middle school teacher drilled into my head. 

Sir closes the door and surprisingly walks into the living room calmly. He’s not a fan of constantly being around people, so it’s understandable that he’d want Brendon gone. He asks what’s on tv, but I haven’t been paying it much attention to actually know. I just shrug and give him the remote as he sits beside me. This is one of the scariest parts— when he hasn’t gone off yet and just acts a little too laid back. Like the calm before the storm settles over the house until he can’t take it anymore and just fucking explodes. 

He places his arm around me and I feel as if I shrink under him, but remain still. If I move then that might make him remember something or get uncomfortable to the point that he lashes out. His arm hangs a little stiff on my shoulder, but his legs are crossed so he can’t jump up immediately. This little message relaxes me a little even though he could easily keep me pushed into the couch.

“So, what did you and Brendon _really_ talk about?” Sir flips through the channels like he’s not subliminally accusing me.  
“Brendon already said. We just talked about where you could be.”  
“Right, that is what Brendon said, but what’s your answer?” His eyes trail over me without moving his head.  
“Well... I-I didn’t know where you were and nei-neither did he so-“ I stammer because I know he’s just toying with me. Fuck he knows I’m lying, I figured I had to worry about Brendon saying something to Sir, but apparently the word “guilty” is practically plastered to my forehead.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Peter. Remember what happened last time you lied?” He turns his head to me and uncrosses his legs. “I don’t want to have to do that again.”  
How could I forget? My elbow still clicks from that night.

“No, really I’m not!” His eyebrows lower and his eyes seem to cut right through mine. “I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to yell, Sir. I just- I’m sorry.” My eyes return to my sleeve.  
“You really think after all this time, I don’t know when you’re lying, Peter.”

His fingers tighten around my shoulder as my muscles tense up slightly. I can feel the ball in stomach rolling up my throat. His hands aren’t even needed to choke me, I can already feel my words building up, only to block my windpipe. My breath shutters as he gets up slowly and puts his hands on top of the cushion above me. He leans in and runs a hand gently through my hair before tightening his grip.

“ _Peter_ ,” Sir says quietly, but stern enough to make my legs shake.  
“Please, I-“ I choke out.  
“Don’t fucking lie to me.” He slams my head into the cushion, which doesn’t hurt much, but the pull on my neck is beginning to ache.

I sit there silently as tears begin to build before he abruptly releases me and straightens.  
“Get up,” Sir orders. “now.”  
I find my feet, but nearly fall back when he just utters the word “bedroom”. There’s no context needed for that word. I know what’s going to happen and as much as I want to run out of the front door, I know I wouldn’t be able to undo the locks before his hands found me again. I pass my chance of freedom as I reach the stairs and just let the silent tears run down my cheeks. Why do they get to escape, but I don’t?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s more to this chapter, so the next will be a kind of part 2, it was just getting kind of long so I ended it. Should be posted soon though. Again, comments are always welcome and kudos are appreciated!


	4. I’ve Got The Scars From Tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna immediately slap a trigger warning on this one for sure, it’s got some serious abuse and eventual rape. Feel free to skip this, the only major thing that contributes to the story is toward the end after it’s happened with Pete’s view of Mikey.

Pete

I weakly push the door open and my shoulders begin to shake when I hear Sir’s footsteps coming up the stairs behind me. My feet plant themselves in the doorway in a last ditch effort to end this. To maybe convince him to miraculously stop where he is, turn around, and calmly walk right back down the stairs. 

“Pl-please... I’m sorry... You don’t have t-to do this,” Any attempt at hiding the tears is gone as my chest rises and falls with thick gasps.   
“ _Peter_ ,” Sir stops at the top of the stairs and looks to the ground as if in thought. There’s almost a humorous twist in his tone that reminds me of Jack Torrence in The Shining when he finally goes off on Wendy which makes my skin crawl. “ _Get in the fucking room_.”  
“No-I... please. I just called you Sir and he wanted to know why,” I slide down the wall with my knees bent to hide my body as much as I can as he steps closer to me. “That’s all I remember, I swear.” 

Sir stops and places a hand on the wall over me to lean on. He rubs his other hand over his tired eyes, fuck he looks so disappointed. I tuck my head in my knees and hold my legs tight to muffle my sobs.

“I swear to god Peter... if you actually told him that!” Sir yells down at me. “People don’t talk about that shit! Nobody wants to hear about it and I’m surprised he stuck around after that. God, you’re so fucking pathetic.”

He stands there for a minute, I can hear his breathing, spit catching in his throat to make it almost sound ragged. I rap my hands over my head to hide it further because I know he’s fucking right. I don’t even want to look at him. I don’t want him to have to see me.

“Get. Up.” Sir orders, but I just can’t. I don’t want him to see me and I desperately don’t want to be in that room. “Peter, do you really think I won’t do this here? I’m just trying to make it more comfortable for you.” 

It’s never comfortable. It doesn’t matter where I am, it never is. I know he’s just trying to kind of look out for me in a way, but I don’t want this. I don’t want to feel it, I don’t want to see it, I don’t want to taste it, I don’t want-

“Fine, fuck it.” Sir walks into the bedroom and a part of me thinks it’s over. That maybe he understood that I really didn’t want to do this, but the other side knows that’s bullshit. That he’s not done and this was just a short commercial break before coming back to my fucked up, yet regularly scheduled program. I didn’t sign up for this type of program. I didn’t pay for this channel. Where the hell’s the fast forward button? Or better yet, a button to change the entire channel. If I’m lucky, maybe even an off button.

I look up to wipe my cheek and see his feet making their way back through the bedroom. My eyes trail up to his hands which tighten their grip around a thin leather belt. His white knuckles wrapped in the make shift whip and I can already feel the burn in my back. My breathing picks up before I can even process what this means and I sputter for air to wind up another plea.

Sir swiftly hits the doorway with his belt with that same force my skin has become all too familiar with. 

“Get the fuck up! And if you don’t stop with that pussy ass crying.” He yells, words laced with aggravated breaths. My legs may be shaking, but I manage to pull myself up the wall because I know a strike to the face with that thing is worse than the back. 

My body tried its best to kick out the invading emotions by coughing up spit with shuddering shoulders, but I just want to do this for him. I want to stop crying, I really do, but I just can’t. Something inside just won’t let me and I thought that after all this time I would be able to switch it off, but I can’t. I don’t cry over movies anymore, I don’t cry over sad books, but moments like these just suffocate me. They twist and knock my brain practically out of my skull to ring out any emotion. 

It’s painful and confusing, but I just want it to stop. If I could turn it off then Sir would be happy. If I had some self control for once then maybe it wouldn’t be like this. 

His arm stiffly raises back and like a machine, drops forward in a swift arc. The belt quickly slices across my arm and I grab it with a yelp like some fucking dog that just got his tail stepped on. I jump back and attempt to melt into the wall as he stomps his foot forward with another shout. He always does that at some point. I think he does it to test me on whether I’ll flinch or not. I fucking hate myself for always flinching.

I hear him mutter something but all I make out is “pathetic excuse” before I look up and his hands slam into my shoulders to get me to stop holding my arm. He wraps his fingers around my wrists and keeps his weight on them before I can even think of what’s happening. 

“You wanna fuck him don’t you?” He practically growls as he leans in. “Little whore doesn’t know when to quit, do you?” 

I’m not sure whether I should shake my head no or yes with these questions. Which one does he want me to answer? Before I can do anything, I hear the thud of the leather belt hitting the floor and the stiff shuffle of denim. 

I look down to see one hand unbuttoning his pants and I begin to panic once again. He twists the collar of my shirt with the other hand to keep me in place and to my disappointment it’s actually working. I can’t even move under his grasp and when his hand snakes up to my throat I’m completely paralyzed. He presses his weight into it and I can feel the air being pushed out. Like my soul is escaping and leaving my body to suffer through this one last time.

I can feel his fingers around my waistband struggling to pull it down further as my legs start to kick. He knees me in the groin to stop and the pain forces me to comply. I would double over, but his hand keeps me in place as I spit and gasp for air. My hands pull and twist at the arm on my neck and my nails pathetically scratch at it, but he still keeps it there firmly as if I’m not even trying.

He finally releases me once I’m totally exposed and as I cough I can practically feel the blood burning in my cheeks. I hate being out like this, I might not be shirtless, but that’s not exactly where I need to cover up anyway. 

“Why the fuck aren’t you hard?” Sir asks with a scowl. _Maybe because my dicks a little more focused on the pain it received not even two minutes ago._ “What I don’t do it for you anymore? Why don’t you think of Brendon, maybe then you’ll get your rocks off.” 

My coughing pauses for a moment at that, but returns when I realize breathing is more important than getting a word in at the moment. My hands instinctively hide it from him as I finally start to breath a little more normally. I look up and see him appear almost disgusted and fuck I would be too. Nobody wants to see a flaccid dick when you want to fuck. Especially not your boyfriend’s who’s supposed to be turned on by you. 

“Fuck it, I don’t need it anyway.” He shoves me and I hit the wall again, but this time with my shoulder. He grabs me by the arm to turn me all the way around before pressing my body up against the wall. His hands capture my wrists again and keep me in place as the head of his dick swipes across my ass, slick with pre cum. 

I cry out as he suddenly thrusts into me, face pressed against the cool, thin layer of paint on the wall. I clench my jaw after that to keep him from pushing any further, if he hears me it would just make it worse. He didn’t even use spit to try and make this smoother, it just feels like sandpaper dragging in and out of me.

His pace quickens and I can feel his breath on my neck as he gets closer. Fuck just cum already, that’s all I want at this point. He kisses my temple and I shiver under him as if he’s infectious. He doesn’t seem to notice though, his heavily lidded eyes bouncing with each thrust. Fuck I remember when that face would make all my blood drain to my dick and I could practically match his look, but not anymore. That hasn’t happened in nearly a year and I miss it so much. 

His hips jut and I hit the wall again with a cough to cover up another whimper. I hear him reply with a moan, hopefully for the last time. I try not to focus on the feeling inside and bite my lip instead. He leans onto me, but not in a forceful way, more as a crutch. His arms go limp and he pulls out as my body shudders in return. The tangy stench of sweat and utter heat lingers in the hallway like a morning fog thin enough to not see, but you can feel it’s presence.

“Cl-clean yourself up, I’m gonna go take a shower.” Sir announces with a huff. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.” 

I’m honestly a little shocked at his choice in words as he brings his hand up to wipe the damp trails under my eyes. He guides my head toward him and kisses my forehead. This is Mikey, I know it is. The way he’s looking at me, what he’s saying. I want to bask in this moment even if it’s hidden between bruises and sobs. 

His eyebrows remain unmoved even when he’s looking at me and I can actually see a spark of admiration in his eyes. Why does it take an orgasm-induced fog to bring Mikey out. Why can’t he just be like this all the time? Seeing him like this is the only reason I don’t call the cops after we fuck because now he’s back. Now I can tell that he loves me and always has.

“Okay, Mikey.” I test and fuck I hope that doesn’t set him off. He just looks down to my collar briefly and then lightly rubs my shoulder with his thumb before turning to the bathroom.

It’s a nice ending to a horrid night and I hope it carries onto the next day. It seemed like he was thinking over what I’d said, but didn’t look mad anymore. He appeared to be too exhausted to care at that point. If it takes a quick fuck like that to bring out Mikey then maybe I should stop fighting it so much. I just wish it didn’t hurt like it did. I want him to ride me like he used to, back when he’d ask if I was doing alright. When pinning was just a kink and not a threat. When it was strictly beds and not hallways or floors and fucking on the couch was reserved only if we were feeling dirty.

Seeing Mikey has become my only anchor in this relationship and if I keep up what I’m doing then maybe I can bring him out again. Maybe I can get him to stay longer than just a few minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to start updating this on Saturdays, so it can be a little bit more reliable and not just random. Hope you liked this chapter, pretty dark and (let’s be honest) fucked up, but it will be the last time a chapter this bad is made. I love getting comments and really appreciate kudos, so feel free to leave any!


	5. In Your House Of Memories

Brendon

I can’t stop thinking about him and those goddamn eyes. The eyes hidden most of the time as they scatter to find any other focal point other than my own gaze. Everywhere I go I’ve got this nagging feeling that he’s here. That Pete is around here somewhere. As I grab a drink at the gas station, a part of me thinks I’ll see his little black fringe poking over the the shelves. Or when I stop at a red light, I expect to look over and see him sitting in the car beside mine. Even at the doctors, I wait for him to walk through the door instead of a nurse. 

It’s a completely ridiculous expectation, but it’s tearing me apart. Do I really want to see Pete that bad? We didn’t even have the chance to get that close and I basically left him in tears. He must think I’m a complete asshole for digging my fingers into his personal life. Their relationship was none of my business, but now... now it feels like I’m being pulled into it. I can’t stop thinking about his hanging head. His shaking shoulders, the way he flinched away, and how his eyes glossed over as he spoke.

I pushed him way too far, but I didn’t think that would happen. I didn’t show up with the desire or plan to bring him to tears. He seemed better as the night went on, but he again wouldn’t look at me. I didn’t even catch him like before. Either he’s getting more slick or he just really didn’t want to look at me. I hope he’s not afraid of me though. He always seemed a little skittish, but I also haven’t seen him out of the house yet.

Maybe he’s just not that comfortable at home. I suppose it would make sense. For most people, their house would be a safe place, but if Mikey’s really been treating Pete how he described then that apartment might seem more like a cage to Pete. A place where he has to constantly run around and make sure everything is to “Sir’s” liking. God I hope he doesn’t call him that all the time. 

I’m searching my closet for an actual clean shirt when the idea to get Pete out of that house dawns on me. It’s been two days since I was last over and Mikey seemed a bit distant at work since, but everyone’s been running around and busy in the office anyway. 

It’s literally a company that just sells blinds, I expected it to be like a ghost town with barley any work. I mean how many people really go out to buy blinds? A lot of fucking people apparently. I don’t plan on staying and I don’t know how long Mikey’s been there, but when he starts working he becomes a damn robot. There’s no tearing him away from the computer when he gets started. I don’t know how he can become so invested in it, I mainly just answer some calls, type a few numbers, and then I sit there exhausted. 

I’m not sure if I really want to get back to Pete on his terms though. Even if I was able to corner Mikey for another visit, I don’t necessarily want him there with us. What I do want however is to get Pete out of there. I just hope he’ll listen to me and know I’m trying to help him. Every relationship has problems, but they can usually be looked over or work themselves out. But Pete’s words seemed way too sincere, like he wasn’t just being dramatic over one or two arguments.

His shit seemed deep. I’ve never met anyone who had to call their boyfriend “Sir” out of bed. I can understand if it’s just some name they use when they fuck. That would mean they both like it, but this is way different. Pete was practically trained to call Mikey that. There’s a line that he obviously crossed and dragged Pete with him. 

I should be running out of the door and trying to make it to my desk at work before anyone notices I’m late, but this could be my chance. I know Mikey would be there, he hardly ever misses a day and I don’t even plan on actually staying there so taking a sick day won’t hurt too much. I do need the money at the moment, but it would only be the second day I took off. 

I plan to pull my best Ferris Bueller when I call in sick, make myself presentable to go see Pete, and then show up at his place to hopefully convince him to let me in. It’s a perfect plan. Mikey wouldn’t get in the way, Pete might not be as nervous, and he’d have a safe place to stay for a while.

This place wouldn’t exactly be “Mikey Approved” with the condition it’s in, but if I fix it up a little bit then maybe it would look more comforting. The couch was kind of broken... not much I could do about that. I could stuff the dirty clothes lying around in my closet though and maybe clean some of the dishes. The beer bottles also probably wouldn’t pass as vases... so there’s a lot of shit I need to do, but that’s alright. 

At least it keeps me busy for a bit so it’s not so obvious to Pete that I was waiting for Mikey to leave. Shit he’ll need somewhere to sleep too. A dented couch wouldn’t be too comfortable for very long and if you really think I could afford a two bedroom apartment in this city then you must be insane. I work for a fucking blinds company and before that it was a smoothie joint. I’m lucky I’ve got this place as it is.

I guess I could strip the cushions off of the couch and add a few pillows and blankets to create a makeshift bed on the floor. Not very welcoming, but I’ll figure it out tonight. I shouldn’t be thinking like this. Like it’s inevitable that Pete will be staying here like I’m preparing to adopt a child or rescue a dog. Nothing wrong with staying positive though right? 

I finish up making the place look a little more presentable and finally walk out of the door. I drive by the office to make sure Mikey’s there and as soon as I spot his car, my foot slams on the gas pedal the entire drive to Pete’s place. I park for what feels like a mile away with all these fucking cars blocking the curb. Like seriously what the fuck is all of this about? The neighbors decided to have a party on today of all days or something? 

I finally make it up the stairs and to their doorway with no answer on my first knock. They never mentioned Pete working, so I’m guessing he just stays at home and I’m really depending on that right now. I try again, but this time throw a quick “hey, Pete, it’s Brendon” to coax him out. I watch the window and catch a brief wrinkle in the curtains as his head flashes by to peak through. _Quit being so goddamn cute._

“Pete... Pete I saw you.” I smirk after the silence crawls on.  
I hear a muffled noise that sounds like something close to a voice through the door, but I can’t make it out. I dip my head a little closer even though it’s quiet again.

“I didn’t hear you, please Pete, open the door.” I plead and place my hand on the wooden frame. Something rattles and the door finally opens a sliver and I expect to be met with those eyes once again, but I don’t see anything. His fingers are curled around to hold it open, so he must be standing behind the door.

“Hey, dude, I was just wondering if you’d want to hang out or something.” I softly offer, hopefully keeping his attention despite not being able to see him to tell.  
“No, I can’t sorry.” His voice croaks out.  
“Well, I got the day off and I don’t know. You were just my first thought to be with.” 

There’s another wide expanse of silence, but I can practically feel the grin on his face.   
“Oh okay... I don’t know if I’m allowed though.”  
“Well Pete, you’re your own person. You can do whatever you want, can’t you?”

It’s a little cheesy, but I hope it hits him a bit and makes him at least consider opening the door. I hold my breath as he pauses and at least shows his shoulder as my statement hangs. 

“But, Michael... he wouldn’t like it and-“ His shoulder disappears and I almost bang my forehead against the door in frustration.  
“He’s not here Pete, you’re allowed to have friends right?”  
“Well yeah, but he-he might think I’m going behind his back and I don’t want that.” 

Going behind his back? I’ve seen Mikey with my own eyes flirting with Frank in the office beside his. Hell I’m pretty sure I saw him hanging around the fucking receptionist, Alicia. I don’t have any real evidence he’s slept with either of them, but he’s certainly done more than Pete. I’m pretty sure bringing any of this up right now would lead to a door slammed in my face and most likely a break down from Pete, so I keep it to myself for the time being.

“I’m friends with Mikey though, he wouldn’t think that with me.” I reason.  
“But... I guess that’s true. I’ll just call Michael, he doesn’t like it when I do while he’s at work, but he might understand.”  
“No! Don’t do that,” I jump and his shoulder appears once more.  
“Why not?”  
“Well, I don’t want him to get angry. Here, I’ll call him, he won’t get mad if I do it.”  
“Oh, okay. That makes sense I guess.”

The fuck I am. I don’t like lying to Pete, but this seems to be the only way to get one step closer to that door opening. I take my phone out and tap the screen a few times like I’m trying to find his contact. I notice Pete’s head peak out in the corner of my eye, but I refrain from looking up so he doesn’t get spooked again. Fuck it’s like trying to approach a timid deer or something.

I put the phone up to my ear and stare at the wall, waiting a second as if it’s dialing. If I look now I may get a glance at his eye, but I’m sure he’d pull away in an instant. This takes some serious time and patience and I don’t want to blow this yet.

“Hey, Mikey. Sorry to call while you’re at work, but I was wondering if I could come see Pete today.”  
I nod and throw in a few mhm’s to sell it a bit more and drag out the theatrics just for the hell of it.

“No, I just know that Pete wouldn’t let me in without you, so I figured I’d call.” I catch a slight grin at that one, but it falls back into that more serious slit as he listens attentively.  
“Right... uh huh. Alright cool, thanks.” 

I click my phone and pocket it before looking back to Pete. He looks to my shirt and nervously bites his lip.

“So... what’d he say?” As if he couldn’t tell.  
“I can come inside, it’s cool.” Fuck this better work or we’re both going to be in some serious shit. I’ve still got a few hours before Mikey gets off work and hopefully he does something afterward instead of coming straight home. He usually stays a little while after, tapping away at his keyboard doing who knows what, so I’m not too nervous.

Pete finally looks up to me and gives a slight nod before closing the door. I hear the lock slide and the door opens once again, Pete’s grin may be small, but it’s still there. I must be one of the only people to walk in here just to see him without Mikey because I could tell by his tone that he was surprised when I said I’d thought of him. Especially with this rule of no one being over without Mikey like he’s some helicopter mom.

Well that shits about to change, I’ll make sure Pete won’t ever have to worry about seeing friends or whether the house is in order. I’ll let him relax and clear his head a little. The guy deserves a goddamn break for once. 

“Pete,” I’m not really sure how to start this, I’ve never been in a situation like this before. “we need to talk... like seriously talk.”

His grin falls and I almost change the subject to try and bring it out again, but I need to do this. I can’t just ignore the blatant signs practically slapping me across the face.

“A-about what?” Pete asks timidly.  
“Your relationship with Mikey. I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but trust me alright? I just want to know if you guys are okay.”   
“Yeah, we’re fine... why?” I can see his jaw clench, he’s not that smooth when it comes to lies apparently.

“Pete, I know what a healthy relationship looks like. You don’t have to outright say it, but please just tell me the truth.”  
“Say what? Brendon we’re really good. Michael would never break up with me.”  
“That’s not,” I sigh and rub my nose before continuing. “that’s not what I meant, Pete.” 

He takes a step back towards the door and I can tell I’m losing him. I can understand how he’d see this as invading with me barely stepping through the door and already bombarding him with questions. If I can’t get him to agree to leaving then I’m sure he’d never let me into this house again after this.

“Peter,” I stop as he flinches and his back hits the door.  
“I-I’m sorry... what’d I do? I’m sorry Sir, I-I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry.” Pete rushes out and dips his head with a hard wince plastered to his face. 

“Woah woah, Pete it’s okay. What’s wrong? I’m not trying to... fuck I don’t know what to do.” I run a hand through my hair just as he looks up and clamps his eyes shut again at the gesture.

He thinks... fuck does he think I’m going to hit him? Oh god, what do I do? I need to get him out of this corner, both physically and mentally. That should make him a little more comfortable right?

“I’m not gonna do anything, I swear. You’re fine, Pete.” I put my hands out as his chest heaves up and down. He looks to my hands with that same glossed over look like he’s about to break down again. 

I back away and place myself beside him against the wall a few feet away to give him space to move. This way I’ll be up against the wall and he can feel a little more free hopefully.

“Look, I’m really not going to hurt you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” I reason after he seems to have calmed down a little.  
“I’m fine.” He blurts out as he slowly backs away into the foyer.  
“Pete, I know you understand what I’m saying. You’re not an idiot, are you really okay?” 

He pauses and keeps his eyes trained to my hands, still stiff and ready to bolt.  
“I’m fine right now, really.” He crosses his arms, but it looks like more of an attempt at hugging himself.  
“But what about when Mikey gets home?” I push a little further.  
“I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

He backs up further with a slight trip, almost like a limp and I quickly take this newfound evidence.

“Are you limping?” I ask.  
“No.” Pete’s eyes somehow grow a bit with this answer.  
“Did Mikey hurt you?” I ask without even considering his reply.  
“Can we please not talk about this? It’s really nothing, I hit my knee on the side of the bed. _I’m fine._ ”   
“Then why wouldn’t you wanna talk about it? Look, Pete, I’m just trying to help you, but I can’t if you don’t tell me the truth.”

He rubs his arm and looks to the floor, his chest rising and falling quicker like before. I can tell he’s getting worked up again and I can feel that deep swell of tears in my eyes at the sight of him. He gives a slight nod, if I had blinked I would have missed it. 

“He did?” A simple two word question, but it settles heavily over the room.   
“S-sometimes.” Is all he can choke out as he rests his shoulder on the wall.

Sometimes? That’s not exactly the kind of answer most people would give. It was a yes or no question, but he said sometimes as if I’d asked “does Mikey ever hurt you”. 

“What does he do?” I softly ask.  
“He... please. I-I don’t,” His breath catches, but he’s already said enough.  
“You don’t have to answer that, but I can help you. You’ll be safe, I promise.”

Pete looks back to my hands in consideration. Tears roll down his cheeks as he bites his lip and knots his fingers together. 

“How?” Good, he’s interested.  
“Mikey doesn’t know where my place is, you could come stay with me for as long as you need. We could even find you somewhere else to be if you get tired of my annoying ass.”  
“You’re not annoying.” Pete mutters, but that’s not what I wanted him to focus on.  
“I’m sure there’s some program somewhere for you where you can stay and they can take care of you if you want. Like qualified people and maybe even doctors.”

“No... no doctors. I don’t like doctors.” Pete rushes to reply.  
“Ok, no doctors that’s fine. You can just stay with me and I’ll make sure Mikey doesn’t come within five miles of you.”  
“I-I don’t know if I can. He’ll find me, I know he will.” He stammers with a look crossing his face as if he’s recalling some broken memory.

“I promise alright? Mikey doesn’t even know me that well, he’s never been to my place, I’m going to quit my job soon so I won’t be seeing him, and if we leave now you won’t have to run into him.” I list off and hope that Pete will finally get it into his head that I won’t let Mikey anywhere near him.

“But... he’s got friends. What if they see me? What if the neighbors see us leaving? He’ll think I’m cheating on him or know that I’m running away.”   
“ _You_ , Pete, _you_ will be okay. I promise on my life and everyone I care about. I will protect you and I’m sure I can get the cops on your side too if you want.” 

I take a step closer, but he doesn’t back away this time. He just stands there, trying to think of more ways that this could go wrong as his words sputter out in a mixture of tight sobs and choked breaths. I can tell he’s trying to hold back the tears and just get his words out. Like a block tower that just keeps falling, each attempt to hold a shaking breath in adds another uneven block to topple it over.

He keeps forcing excuses out as I get closer, reassuring him with each step. I finally get close enough to wrap my arms around his rigid frame as his body begins to be racked with sobs. He grasps my back and tugs at my shirt, tears already soaking through to my chest. We stand there for a few minutes, Pete leaning on me as if he’d collapse without my body to hold him. I gently rub his back as his shaking shoulders slowly calm.

He doesn’t completely stop crying, but he quiets down enough that I can unlatch his grasp to look at him. His eyes remain fixed on my chest as leftover tears stain his red cheeks. Eyes that were once beaming with curiosity and possible excitement are now swollen and blood shot with pain. His bangs slick to his forehead and messy from being buried in my chest.

“Fuck I just want to take it all away.” I whisper without necessarily meaning to. Pete finally looks up to me and blinks before looking back down to my chin.

“Come on, we can do this. Grab anything you need, I’m not sure how much we can fit, so stick to things you’ll immediately need. You know like some clothes, toothbrush, shampoo. I don’t know, whatever you think you’ll need.”  
I announce with a hopefully uplifting squeeze to his shoulder before completely taking my arms off of him.

“He... he’s not that bad.” My knees almost give out at this statement. “Sir can be good, I’ve seen it. I just need to listen to him better and-and not fight him.”  
“Pete, if he’s not that bad then why have you been standing here for nearly half an hour crying?” I ask with an exasperated sigh.  
“I’m sorry, I-I forgot you don’t like crying either.” Pete quickly wipes at his cheeks with a sniffle.  
“No, it’s not that, I just think that the thought of your boyfriend shouldn’t bring you to tears like this. It’s true that I don’t like crying, but only because it makes me want to cry when I see you like this.” 

His eyes flick up to meet mine as my thumb traces down his jawline.   
“You don’t have to live like this, Pete.”  
I notice his jaw clench right before he dives in for another desperate hug that I gratefully return. I rest my cheek on his forehead as his shaky breaths brush against my collar bone.

“Thank you... thank you so much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked this chapter, leaving it on a soft note tonight. Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


	6. Why Put A New Address On The Same Old Loneliness

Pete

I haven’t had someone touch me like that in so long without being half asleep or riding out the aftermath of an orgasm. Just an actual hug that I could sink into and the way he brushed my jaw without me having to do anything. I didn’t deserve that, yet he was still so gentle and stayed to listen. 

He’s not like Michael’s other friends, I wasn’t sure at first and I’m still a little cautious, but his concern seems genuine. Like he really does want to help and not just trick me into taking him into the bedroom. He’s a little pushy with the questions, but I’m glad that I got to tell someone. I just hope this wasn’t some test where he goes and tells Sir what I said.

A part of me questions if that’s how Michael knew I’d said something last time, that Brendon told him while I was in the bathroom. I don’t want to believe that though, so I just ignore that shitty little voice for once and begin packing.

I grab as many shirts as I can and stuff them into my two bags with the few pants that still fit me. Brendon takes the bags downstairs while I work on the bathroom and collect my various hair products, toothbrush with the accompanying toothpaste, and grab my eyeliner at the last minute. Maybe I’ll feel like wearing it one of these days, Michael wasn’t always a fan of it, but there were days when he’d let me wear it.

I take a few pictures of my family and past friends that were tucked away in a box under the bed. There’s even a few of Sir, well he was Mikey back then. That was before we even started dating and were only seeing each other through mutual friends. 

It seems like such a long time ago, it’s unbelievable how much has happened since then. Just as the weight of doubt begins to rest on my shoulders, Brendon walks in with an exhausted gasp.

“Oh fuck... those stairs,” he says between breaths. “You go up and down those everyday?”  
“Yeah.” I chuckle, thank god he showed up. I felt the deep murmur of tears welling up right before he came in.  
“What’s left? Oh what’s that?” He gestures to the pictures before kneeling down.

I drop the Mikey picture and pick up a different one of my siblings and I on Halloween years ago. He joins my smile as he picks up another picture.

“Is this you?” He points to a blurred picture of me playing soccer, by the look of my hair I’d say it was either late junior or early senior year.  
“Yeah, I used to play all the time.”  
“That’s really cool... you wanna take these? I love looking at old pictures.”  
“Yeah, sure. I haven’t seen these in a while.”

He breaks away from the faded polaroids and undeveloped film to pick up my plastic bag from the bathroom. I join him with my box of memories and hang on to them like they might escape me once again. They’re my only anchor at the moment and I can’t lose them again. 

“Alright, is that everything?” Brendon asks with a hand resting on the lifted trunk.  
“Y-yeah, I think so...” I look back up at the brownstone apartment that I’d become so familiar with. “I just haven’t left like this before. It feels so permanent.”  
“Well I hope it is, I can’t let you go back to him, Pete. He didn’t treat you right and you know it’s true.”

I nod and look at the cluttered trunk holding my entire life or what I could find of it. I just feel like Michael should be here, no not Michael. _Mikey_ should be here. I really wish he could be, I don’t really know how to function without him. He’s my everything, the reason I get up in the morning, the reason I cook, the reason I can keep busy despite being in the house all day. I just don’t know if I can go on without him. What will I do all day?

I can feel the panic deep inside me finally start to take effect, it had been building up for so long. I tried to ignore it by keeping my hands moving with packing, but that damn picture. My chest flutters as I lean on the car for balance and try to look more natural than I feel.

“Pete? Pete are you okay?” I hear Brendon’s voice buzz in my ear.  
“Yeah I- this is all just going really fast and,” I gasp for breath as my body shutters.  
“Just sit down Pete, here.” I hear the passenger door open beside me and I shuffle to the seat.

I just need to sit, I just need to stay off my legs for a bit. I can see them shaking, but I almost can’t feel it. I know something’s off, but I can’t pin point exactly where it’s wrong. Something’s broken and I think it’s because Michael’s not here. Fuck why isn’t he here?

“Pete, hey hey, don’t worry alright? Look at me... I’ve gotta question.” Brendon ducks to be at my eye level halfway in the car.  
“Wh-what?” I stutter out and fuck I need to stop doing that, but my tight throat and fogged mind refuse to obey.  
“What’s your favorite memory?”  
“I... I don’t know. I know what you’re doing and I just want to go back inside.”  
“What am I doing then?”

“You’re trying to distract me and I don’t want to-to do this anymore. I don’t think I wanna leave.” I stare at the parked car ahead of us and wonder how much time I have until Sir gets back.  
“I don’t want to force you to do anything, but I can’t ignore this shit. I really like you, Pete, and I don’t think I could clearly look at myself in the mirror if I left you like this.” 

I pause at that and wonder what he means. Would he be ashamed of himself? Would he be disappointed that he couldn’t look like a good person or is he actually that good? Nobody’s actually like that, right?

“I just don’t know what I’m going to do without him. Everything I do is for him.”  
“Exactly, what’s Mikey done for you?”  
“He-He let me stay here, he pays for groceries, and the bills. Sir’s good, he really is, he just,” My eyebrows grow taught with this statement as I hang onto any shred of validation that I can.  
“Just what? You can’t even finish the sentence and that should be proof enough that this isn’t right.” 

Brendon kneels down and looks up at me as I try to choke out a reply.  
“Mikey doesn’t deserve you and hell I don’t either. The fact that you stayed this long... it’s astounding. Think of everything he’s done to you, do you really want to go back to that?”

I shake my head before I can give it much thought as to avoid those memories. They weren’t so great and I try to remind myself of that as I look behind Brendon to see those steps one more time. Trying to remember going up those stairs with him when we first moved in is like pulling teeth. I just can’t see it anymore. I can’t see that happiness like I used to.

“Let’s just go, please.” I look away and focus on the seatbelt as Brendon nods and closes the door. 

It’s tough getting out of the close parking, but Brendon manages to get through and we finally pull out of sight from our apartment. _His_ apartment. I glance back out the window, but the cars and trees block my view. I return my attention to Brendon as he clears his throat.

“So, do you have a job? I just never heard anyone mention it.”  
“No, not anymore. Sir didn’t like me leaving the house for that long... he didn’t want it to stress me out.”  
“Where’d you work? Do you miss it?”  
“Yeah, kind of. I miss Andy, we worked together at this packing company and were friends even before that.”  
“Oh that’s cool, you’ll have to give him a call sometime.”

That would be great, but we fell apart after I got more serious with Sir. I could tell Andy was never a fan of him, but just wouldn’t say. When I left the band it was like our friendship finally snapped with it. Sir didn’t like me being in a band, despite being a part of one too. He said it would stress me out and being around all the crowds and bars was dangerous for me. I guess he’s right, I got into a few fights back then.

I still felt... respected though. Despite all the shit talking that came with a band, I still felt like I had some ounce of dignity. Something I could be proud of. People that could look to me for a good time. They’re all gone now though. That chapter in my life closed and burned with the rest of the book of lies. I’ve lost all contact with them, Sir got me a new phone that I thought was an amazing gift at the time. It seemed strange when he suggested I don’t keep any of my old numbers of my friends. He said he wanted to _“start over and leave all of the negativity in the past”._

I expected to fill my phone up with all these new friends that I’d meet along the way as my life finally started to move in the seemingly right direction. I expected casserole carrying new neighbors as we moved in with welcoming smiles and open arms. There was no such luck though. I’ve learned over the years that life is far from the John Hughes movie I’d imagined as a kid. 

Neighbors don’t show up on your doorstep ready to plan a house warming barbecue for you, block parties don’t exist, and childhood friends fall away quicker than autumn leaves. The new friends you do manage to make later on don’t stick around close enough to care for you like all the high school movies I’d come to live by. Oh and relationships don’t end with the happily ever after, no no, _they keep going_. Through fights and insults, punches and shoves, slaps and lunges, black eyes and broken bones. The list goes on and on until this happy little romcom quickly becomes a horror movie.

We aren’t as far from Sir’s apartment as I’d like, but it’s a start. Brendon’s place doesn’t look that bad either. A small apartment complex with a thin metal gate over the door that serves some type of comfort. Brendon unlocks it and I follow him to the elevator with one of my bags and the box. It smells like a mixture between a mattress store and moth balls. That strange clean yet dirty texture that tickles my nose. I’m not sure whether I like it or not, but I’m willing to ignore it.

Elevators kind of make me nervous when their doors close, their sense of permanence and control as you are forced to ride up and down against your will. The doors could just refuse to open or it could suddenly drop all together. It’s not a high building and we only travel up to the second floor, but the fear still hangs over me in the two minutes it takes to get up there. 

The number thirteen decorates the door and I begin to take in the layout of the place. Long hallway, five doors on each side, Brendon’s is the second one down on the left wall. If Sir ever finds a way to get in I need to know my escape routes, so knowing that there is a fire exit down the hall is vital information. The gate out front didn’t seem incredibly sturdy, but the door behind it would still need to be unlocked. Not to mention getting into Brendon’s apartment, so I at least have a few buffers before he can get to me.

He holds the door open for me as I brush passed him to wait inside rather awkwardly. I look around at the couch behind me and the kitchen in the corner, smaller than Sir’s, but still feels less suffocating and open. Brendon locks the door behind us and I stiffen a bit at the noise while my grip tightens around the strap of my bag.

“Alright, so this is it. Not as swanky as his place, but it’s home.” He announces as he sets down the bags and makes his way to the kitchen. “You want a drink or something?”  
“What?” I don’t get asked that question... shit this isn’t my house that’s right.

I haven’t been over to someone else’s home since I moved in with Sir. There were a few office parties and dinner’s with friends at restaurants, but those came along like distant holidays. I don’t mean like Christmas or Halloween that you expect and look forward to, I mean like the forgotten ones like Flag Day or Arbor Day that come around randomly by surprise. Those nights were few and far between with Sir coming home and announcing the sudden get-togethers as I rushed to get ready.

“A drink? You hungry?” Brendon repeats with a gesture to the fridge.  
“No... I’m fine.” I’m already staying in his home, I don’t need to raid his fridge. “This place is nice, woah you gotta guitar?” I ask as I notice an acoustic guitar leaning on a bookshelf by the tv.  
“Oh yeah, it was from my parents years ago. I kind of stole it from my brother actually, but I was the main one who played it anyway.”  
“That’s cool, I can kind of play the bass, but Sir was always better.”

There’s a slight pause in the conversation, but I ignore it as a place my bag and the box on the couch. I join them and there’s a sudden drop in it as I sit and my heart stops as I jump back up. I nearly trip over the coffee table and look up to Brendon opening a beer at the counter. He looks almost as surprised as I am with the sudden noise.

“I-I didn’t mean it! I’m sorry, I’ll fix it I promise.” I turn to the couch and fuck I broke it. My fat ass just broke his only couch and I haven’t even been here for five minutes. I drop to my knees to inspect it, leaving a trail of apologies in my wake. I try to lift it back up before Brendon can reach me. Fuck he’s got a beer bottle, what if he throws it like Sir did? He’s going to throw it at me I know it. 

“Oh don’t worry-“ Brendon starts and makes his way over.  
“No, I broke it. I’m sorry, I... I can’t lift it I’m sorry.” Fuck just pick it up, why can’t I just lift a couch? It doesn’t look that heavy.  
“No seriously, it was already broken. I tried to kind of fix it before leaving, but I guess just lifting it back up didn’t do much.”

Brendon kind of chuckles at that and my muscles relax a bit, but I still keep an eye on the bottle in his hand. Sometimes Sir would seem fine, but then suddenly lash out so I still don’t trust that bottle despite Brendon being the one holding it. He goes to take a swig and my arms flinch back slightly and my eyelids find themselves quickly blinking away. When I realize he’s just taking a sip, I climb up to the couch and stare at the blank tv in hopes that he’s not actually mad.

“You wanna watch something? I’ve got some stuff I need to do on the computer, but you can watch whatever you want.”  
“Y-yeah sure.” He hands me the remote and I click through a few channels.

It’s different than my old tv, but not hard to figure out. Brendon goes and sits at the kitchen table with his laptop and I really hope he’s okay. I turn the volume down a bit to keep him from getting distracted or annoyed. I really can’t fuck this up.

I jump again at the buzz in my pocket. Fuck my phone. It never even crossed my mind that it was with me. Why didn’t I think of that? God I’m so fucking dumb.

I reach into my pocket and look at the notifications, two texts from Sir:

**10 minutes ago:** I’m thinking chicken tonight 

**1 minute ago:** Pete??

Shit what do I do? Brendon might know, wait what if he gets pissed off that I have my phone? Sir might be able to track me and it will lead him right to here if he finds out I’m gone. Brendon’s going to be so pissed that Sir will find out. First I re-brake his couch and now I lead the exact person Brendon was trying to avoid to my location. 

I look back to Brendon who continues to type away and intently stare at his screen. My mouth opens and closes, trying to force out some kind of explanation to my stupidity. At the very least an acknowledgement to this new predicament.

My phone buzzes in my hand again as my thumb begins to shake at being so close to Sir’s name.

**Now:** I can see that you read that Pete. Do we have the chicken or not?

I continue to ignore the messages and put the phone down as it vibrates in a rhythm of desperation and hatred. I rub my face in an attempt to wipe away the sudden stress creasing my eyebrow and heating my face.

I look down to see the screen lighting up with new messages ranging from question marks to names I’d rather not repeat. When I see the inevitable “ _Peter_ ” I pick up my phone, fully ready to punch out a reply to silence the onslaught.

I can practically feel his agitation coursing through my fingertips as they hover over the screen. He always wanted me to reply quickly to his texts and if I don’t answer soon he’s going to call. I can’t talk to him, not yet. I just can’t hear his voice right now. The disappointment that will lay thick on his tongue when he hears my voice. He’ll know immediately what I’ve done. I can’t lie to him, I’ve never been good with lying to Sir. I don’t understand why, when I was younger I could lie straight through my teeth without so much as a smirk, but now. With him. I just can’t, it’s like he has this certain control over my mind that makes all bodily function get tossed in the trash to join my ego and dignity. 

I thought that was the anxiety that comes with love. I can tell that this has become more than just the butterflies in my stomach or a nervous laugh on a first date. I don’t even have to see his penetrating eyes to know that lying is impossible at the moment. Even with him blocks away, his arms still reach out to suffocate my thoughts.

“Pete?” Brendon pipes up. “What’s that?”  
“It’s-its just... my phone.” I choke out.  
“A phone? Wait seriously? He could easily find you with that” He gets up and stops behind me. “You’re not talking to him are you?”  
“Well no, but he is texting me. I don’t know what to do. I forgot I had it with me with all the packing and running around. I’m sorry-“  
“It okay, we’ll just...” Brendon sighs.  
“I’m really sorry, I swear I didn’t know it was with me. I haven’t answered any of them.”

Before we can do anything my phone buzzes again, but this time with a high pithed ringtone, with Sir’s name plastered to the screen, waiting to be answered. 

“Oh god, what do I do? I can’t- I can’t talk to him, please.” I stutter out and nearly drop the phone.  
“No don’t! Just let it ring, we’ve got plenty of time to figure this out.”  
“I-I can’t just leave him.”

The buzzing stops and another text comes in with the simple words “I’m coming home, Peter”. My breath hitches and I bite my lip with a look to Brendon in some desperate attempt to ask what to do. He presses his hand on my shoulder in what I’m guessing is supposed to be reassurance.

“I guess... we’ve got a little less time now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a filler chapter, but it at least gave more of a look into Pete’s mindset and his changing thoughts on whether he misses Mikey and can trust Brendon. Hopefully the next chapter will be better, see you next week. Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


	7. Smile Even Though You’re Sad

Brendon

I hand him the remote and bring my laptop to the kitchen table. I type in the password and watch Pete carefully switch through the channels and figure out the buttons while it loads. He at least seems content at the moment, distracted at the very least. I did some research on the signs of abuse earlier to make sure I wasn’t just overreacting before I went and asked if he wanted to stay here or needed help. 

It’s a pretty touchy subject, especially with someone you’re not incredibly close to. Maybe that makes it easier though, like pouring your heart out on some anonymous online forum. You don’t have to feel ashamed at anything you’re saying because you don’t know who’s reading it. I know that if I were in Pete’s position I would rather open up to a stranger over my mom or a close friend. Leaves less judgement from the listener if they haven’t gotten to know you very long.

I return my attention to my computer and begin looking up more questions circling victims of abuse. How to make them feel comfortable, ways to help them, how they can cope with the aftermath. I look up at Pete once again when I start to read down a list of the characteristics of abuse victims as if I could just see them plastered to the side of his head.

I notice him fidget a bit and I can hear the distant sound of something... vibrating? I check my phone, but there’s no notifications. It could just be his pants rubbing against the couch. He looks stressed out and I can’t blame him. I can tell it’s going to be a long night for the both of us.

I look back to my computer and internally curse the internet for pretty much only providing women’s signs of abuse. I mean I guess they can’t be that far off, but I’d still like to have something a little more specific. 

Well Mikey controlling who Pete sees matches one of the descriptions, so does Pete being afraid to leave. His stuttering could be explained too, but he could have done that before meeting Mikey and it only worsened through the relationship. As I scan through the symptoms I begin to connect the dots and understand Pete a little more even if they’re all just assumptions.

I look up to him again and see something shining in his hand. God I really hope that’s not what it looks like. By some miracle I hope it’s just a figment of my imagination as his thumbs shake over the screen.

“Pete? What’s that?” I ask as calmly as I possibly can as to not freak him out.  
“It’s-it’s just... my phone.” He turns to me with glazed over eyes and a creased eyebrow signaling oncoming tears.  
“A phone? Wait seriously? He could easily track you with that.” I close my laptop and get up to see what he’s doing.

There’s dozens of apps out there for tracking phones, Mikey could have easily put one on it. Hell there’s apps to tell helicopter parents what speed limit their kid is driving or whether they’ve left the house, so god knows Mikey could have easily done the same thing. Fuck if he got a notification that Pete left then we’re screwed and have been since he walked out of the door.

“You’re not talking to him are you?” I stop behind Pete on the couch to get a better look at the screen.  
“Well no, but he is texting me. I don’t know what to do. I forgot I had it with me with all the packing and running around. I’m sorry-“  
“It okay, we’ll just...” I cut off Pete before he can go off on another tangent of apologies. 

This doesn’t stop him of course and I try to ignore the desperation in his voice as he explains that he didn’t know he had it. I don’t know how the hell you couldn’t tell there was a phone in your pocket, but he was pretty worked up at the house. Before I can say anything it suddenly blasts out a ringtone with the name Michael lighting up the screen.

“Oh god, what do I do? I can’t- I can’t talk to him, please.” Pete stammers as the phone jumps in his hand.  
“No don’t! Just let it ring, we’ve got plenty of time to figure this out.”  
“I-I can’t just leave him.”

I don’t get much of a chance to say anything until the phone finally stops buzzing and the panic seems to have ceased for half a second. Just when I think it might be over for now, the screen lights up one last time with Mikey telling Pete that he’s coming home. Fuck.

He looks up to me with those same pleading eyes and creased brow. I place my hand on his shoulder to try and keep him more calm than I am at the moment.  
“I guess... we’ve got a little less time now.” I sound more unsure than I mean to, but it’s an honest answer.

Just what the fuck happens now? I... I didn’t think it would happen this fast. We were supposed to take time to set up and I was going to ask him what he was comfortable doing. I know there’s hotlines and maybe even a few of Pete’s friends that we could’ve called. People that he’s comfortable with and who can protect him or at the very least talk to him. 

“What if he thinks I’m missing... like-like someone broke in and took me.” Pete asks with shaking breaths.  
“Pete, we left the house without breaking anything. There was no forced entry or blood anywhere.”  
“But it’ll look like they took things.”  
“Yeah suspiciously _only_ your things.” I point out as I go to sit next to him.

He looks down to my legs and fidgets with his phone again.  
“He _will_ need to know that you left on your own terms though.” I leave the unspoken question as to how this will happen hang in the air for a few moments.  
“How... I can’t talk to him. If-if I do I’ll end up going back and I don’t know if I want that. I really love him I do, but I don’t want to go back to it.”

I’d like to ask exactly what _it_ is, but I need to focus on how we’re going to get Mikey to know he’s left without knowing where he’s gone.

“Ok well how about we just text him, you tell him that you left and how you feel.” I suggest with a gesture to the phone.  
“Yeah... yeah he deserves an explanation. I just- what if he feels bad about it?”  
“ _And_? He should feel bad about what he did. That’s none of your concern anymore, Pete.” 

He lightly nods in return and goes back to his phone. He opens his messages and stares at the screen for a while. I can’t see the earlier messages but the last four read:

**??**

**Answer the phone bitch**

**Peter you know what happens if you don’t reply**

**I’m coming home, Peter**

“What happens if you don’t-“  
“Is this good?” Pete practically shoves the phone in my face to see what he’d written.  
“I’m sorry Michael, but I can’t do this anymore. Thank you for everything that you’ve done, but I can’t live like this. I left on my own and I know it’ll hurt you, but you’ve hurt me too many times. Goodbye Mikey.” I mutter under my breath as I read his text.

“Yeah... that works. Once you send it to him we need to get this phone back there though, just to make sure he can’t find you.” I’d rather there not be any thank you’s or apologies, but we really need to get moving.  
“What if he’s there?”  
“I mean you can stay here if you want, but the phone needs to be gone either way.”  
“I don’t wanna be left alone though.”

I sigh and he inches away as his eyes flick to the floor with a dipping head.  
“You can stay in the car if you want, in fact that’d be best. We really need to go though because I don’t know how long it’ll take him to get there. They could be stalling him at the office since he can’t just walk out or he could be on his way right now so let’s go.” I get up and allow him to move toward the door.

The slow descent in the elevator feels like hours before the doors finally open and we quickly get to my car. We’re half way down the street when Pete’s phone buzzes again, Mikey must have read the text.

“He’s really mad.” Pete whimpers.  
“What’s he saying?” I try to look over at the phone, but the car in front of me keeps testing their brakes, so my attention has to draw more towards them.  
“That... that he doesn’t even care and I was ju-just another hole. That I’m useless otherwise, but I’ll be back anyway.” Pete covers his mouth and attempts to hide his face by turning to the window.

“What an asshole.” I spit out before Pete continues as the phone begins to light up once more.  
“Nobody will love me like he did... that he deserves better... I should be thanking him.”  
“The fuck you should, he wouldn’t be saying that if he loved you. _You know that right_?”

Pete buries his head in his knees and drops the phone to the floorboard. I reach over to rub his back, but he flinches away. 

“You’re alright, Pete. That asshole won’t be saying any of that anymore. You won’t have to hear it.”  
“He’s r-right.” His voice is muffled, but I can still make it out.  
“No he’s not and I can promise you that.”  
“You don’t even know me!” Pete lifts his head to reveal his once again bloodshot eyes and stained cheeks.  
“I know you well enough that I can tell you don’t deserve any of this. No one does .” I reply firmly and grip the wheel. “I had a friend like you once, he had a terrible father and even if he was a bit of a smartass at times he still didn’t deserve it.”

We drive in silence until the apartment is finally in sight. Pete sits up a bit to scan the area for Mikey’s car. Luckily it doesn’t appear to be here yet, but I don’t slow down to park. 

“Throw it out the window.” I say sternly.  
“W-What?”  
“Go on, throw it out the window like you’re throwing Mikey out.” A smirk plays at my lips.

At first Pete seems hesitant, but a smile slowly grows on his face and it’s the first real one I’ve seen since I first met him. He bites his lip in an attempt to control it as he lowers the window. He throws the phone as hard as he can and it hits a car window with the sound of glass cracking.

“OH FUCK!” Pete yells and ducks his head with a laugh.  
“Holy shit, Pete!” I reply with a look back to the cracked window behind us, luckily it didn’t break, but it’s still a window replacement all the same.  
“Gogogogogo! Just go!” Pete shouts and bounces in his seat as the window anticlimactically draws up slowly.

This is Pete. This is who I want to see. Sure he’s got a hint of fear, but it’s a mischievous type of fright. The knowledge that what he did was wrong, but being too caught up in the moment to truly be worried. This more carefree Pete is what I want to see and I just knew it was hiding in there somewhere. 

My foot hits the pedal hard enough to make us both hit the backs of our seats, but we can’t stop laughing. Pete’s teeth shine and his sharp canines snap together with each howl of laughter. His eyes crinkle and I wonder if he can even see out of them as his hands grip the armrests.

“Oh shit! We’re gonna crash over some window.” Pete says between wheezes.  
I just chuckle in reply as I ease up on the gas a bit before making a lunging turn to get off the street and away from the scene of the crime. We’ll just leave that for someone else to take care of, hopefully Mikey. 

We get back to my place and Pete’s still smiling with the distraction of the accident to keep his mind at peace for once. Thank god because I was worried before going that the ride back would be yet another emotional roller coaster. A ride filled with self hatred and regret where I would be hopelessly trying to convince him this was for the better like I had been pretty much the entire time. This shit’s tiring, but the wide grin on his face as I unlock the front gate is worth it. I’d shatter a million car windows and fight ten Mikey’s all at once if it meant I could get Pete to smile like this. Let’s just hope I get to see more of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit shorter, I got side tracked with other things, but I hope it’s alright. This fic will probably be updated once a week, I don’t want to make any promises as to what days though. Anyway comments and kudos are always appreciated as usual, hope you like it so far!


	8. Never The Same Person When I Go To Sleep

Pete

I jump awake and nearly fall off the couch. I must have fallen asleep at some point because everything is drenched in darkness with the only noise being the distant tick of a clock and my shaking breaths. He was here. I know he was. Sir was on top of me, I saw him. I felt him. 

I notice a thin blanket strewn over me and a pillow that I must have knocked to the floor. They weren’t here when he was on me. Fuck it was a dream. I can’t go back to sleep, I fucking can’t. I could feel his breath on my cheek and the couch pressing into me like I could disappear between the cushions. I couldn’t see his dick, but I could feel it between my legs. Fuck I can’t breath.

I sit up and run a hand through my hair, gripping it like he used to. I need to do something or else my brain might just jump right out of my skull. Whenever I felt like this I would just clean to get my mind off of whatever was bothering me. I don’t want to turn on any lights to alarm him, so looking for cleaning supplies might be a little hard. I find myself in the bathroom searching for anything I could possibly use and grab a stray washcloth. 

It’s already relatively clean, but the edges around the shower could use some work. I wipe up any loose hairs and dried soap before moving to the floor around the toilet.

“What’re you doing?” I jump at the sudden voice behind me, it doesn’t sound as pleased as I’d hoped.  
“J-Just cleaning.” I continue on the floor without taking my eyes off the tiles.  
“You don’t have to do that,” He yawns.  
“I just needed something to keep me busy.”  
“How long have you been up? It’s like three in the morning.”  
“Not long, I just... I didn’t have a good dream and woke up.”  
“Ah, yeah I get that. I’m not really comfortable with you just getting up to clean though. Next time you can just wake me up if you want. I’m fine with it.”

Wake him up like I’m four years old, yeah I don’t think so. It’s a nice gesture, but there’s no way he’s being serious. Despite my doubt, I stop my scrubbing and stand to look at him.

“What am I supposed to do then?”  
“You can watch tv, I’ve got some books, or video games. Just keep the volume-“  
I cut him off as I connect our lips. My hands barely wrap around him before I feel his tense arms push me away.

“Woah what the fuck? I don’t think this is really the time... I don’t want you to feel like you need to do that.”  
“What?”  
“You don’t need to-“

I drop to my knees, fuck he wants to rush this I guess. Most of the time Sir didn’t want to waste time kissing or hugging either. He said that was pussy shit too and it only served as a distraction from the main goal. Brendon must be straight to the point too.  
I can understand that.

“Pete hang on,” Brendon starts as I look up to him. I can feel the hint of panic mixed with tears behind my eyes, but I try to push it aside. I don’t think I’m ready for this again and I thought this wouldn’t happen here, but everyone must do this at some point. Even Brendon. I bite my lip just like Sir preferred and move my hands to his waste band. 

He jumps back for some reason and nearly hits the doorframe. I tilt my head in mild confusion as his eyes bug out a bit.

“ _No_! No stop! I know what this is and it’s not right. This isn’t... people don’t just do this when they think... I’m not sure how to put it, but this isn’t right.”  
“What’d you mean?”  
“You’re not some fucking robot, alright? If I don’t want you to clean, that doesn’t mean I need a blowjob or to fuck you! There’s more to this than just sex or making you do shit.”

“But Sir and I-“  
“I don’t give a shit!” Fuck he’s mad.  
“I’m sorry, I-I can do better I promise. What do you want me to do? I’m sorry, I’m just kind of confused.” I pull at my fingers to keep them busy as I wait for his response.  
“Just stop cleaning, get up, and go sit on the couch.” Brendon directs as he moves to the side to let me out.  
“Yes sir.” 

I walk as fast as I can to the couch and stare at my lap waiting for his instructions. Is he going to fuck me on the couch? Is that how he likes it? I don’t know a guy who’s not a fan of blowjobs, but maybe he prefers this. I already escaped that nightmare and now I’ve got to actually live through it? 

“And please don’t call me that.” Brendon says from behind the couch.  
He sits across from me on the coffee table a little awkwardly at first, but rests his elbows on his knees to appear more comfortable.

“I need you to understand something,” This doesn’t sound like a fun conversation and I feel like I’m a little kid again being scolded for sneaking a snack or slapping my brother. “I’m not here to force you into anything alright?”  
I simply nod in reply and continue to keep my gaze at one of his wrists. My eyes just can’t find their way to his at the moment. If he doesn’t want me to clean and it’s too late to cook then why am I here? Whatever I was supposed to do, it wasn’t that apparently.

I hate the word embarrassment, but it’s all that seems to radiate from me as I sit here. The creases on my forehead spelling out the word shame as my eyebrows grow taut. 

“You’re confused right?” I give the same nod before he continues. “I’m not like him. I don’t know what you think relationships are like, but it’s not whatever he forced on to you.”  
“He didn’t force me.” I finally say. “When we met I loved him and when I left I loved him.”

This feels more like a promise to myself, like a subconscious attempt at convincing my brain that it’s true. Brendon seems to pause at that and I begin to wonder if I said the right thing. I should’ve just nodded. This wasn’t a time to speak, fuck.

“That’s alright, I get it. So you chose to date him?”  
I go back to nodding and find myself staring at the peaking tattoo on his forearm.  
“Well, I know I haven’t heard the full story, but I obviously know enough since you’re here right now. I’m not here to take advantage of you, or order you around, or trick you, or whatever else you might think.” He lists off and I notice how his hands move with each word.

“He... he wasn’t always like that. It’s just how relationships work. They’re all different.” I feel like I’m reciting Michael’s words, but I do actually believe them.  
“That’s true, but some of them aren’t always healthy.”

I nod and look back down to my fingers locked together. To my surprise, his hand hovers over my arm briefly before touching it. Like he was unsure whether to touch me or not. It still feels nice though as his thumb lightly traces an invisible circle on my bicep.

“Now, I think we should both try to sleep. You can take my bed, I’ll sleep out here.”  
“No that’s-“  
“Seriously it’s fine, you’re my guest anyway. The bed’s much more comfortable than this shitty little couch.” I return his smirk and grab one of my bags of clothing for something a little more comfortable than the jeans and jacket I’m still clad with.

It’s strange that he didn’t even try to take any of it off when I was asleep. Hell he put a blanket over me instead. He covered me up more than before. This guy’s strange, but I think it’s in a good way. I hope he doesn’t change like Sir did.

I’m not a big fan of the full length mirror in his room, so I get changed as far away from it as possible. I don’t like seeing what Sir leftover just like he didn’t want to see it either. It’s too hot for sleeves though and I’m tired of only feeling tight fabric and heated skin. I opt for a t-shirt despite the scars and faded bruise on my wrist. The scars are pretty small here though and you can’t really see them that well with my tattoos snaking down my arms. 

It does feel nice on the more fresh cut from a few days ago when Brendon had talked to me back home. Or not home. That’s not home anymore. My bicep still burns from it and I’m glad I hadn’t laid down on that side earlier. I doubt it will really scar, the belt barely broke the skin and I’ve become pretty skilled at cleaning any wounds. 

It started with bandaging Sir’s knuckles when he’d punch the wall in aggravation or washing up my bloody nose from some bar fight with a stranger. That slowly turned into a bloody nose from Michael and then a cut foot from a glass bottle being chucked at my feet in the middle of the night. After a while I learned a few tricks and I’ve gotta say my wounds have healed quite well. This one is coming along and isn’t as deep as I’d assumed. It sure as hell felt like it thought.

It felt like he’d practically scraped my bone when he got me, but hopefully that will be the last time. I don’t ever want to get in another fight or even an argument. I used to live for pushing people to their limits, but after him there’s no way. I don’t want to be that guy who’s always looking to push people’s buttons, but I certainly don’t want to be who I am with Michael. 

I crawl under the ruffled covers, half of them still vaguely warm, but the other side is nice and chilly. God I missed cold sheets and having an entire bed to myself. I don’t even remember the last time I didn’t have to sleep with an arm hanging over me or knee in my hip. The hollow feeling of loneliness hangs in the back of my mind, but this feels too good to focus on that. Just being able to stretch out is enough to drift me off to sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter, but I started writing this and just had to scrap it because it just didn’t fit. I still feel like this is missing something, but I just want to get moving with the next chapter to not be so late with it.


	9. The Bruises and Contusions, Will Remind Me What You Did When You Wake

Brendon

I wake up earlier than usual with a deep ache in my back as I twist my body around on the slanted couch. Alright, he’s getting a mattress because there’s no way anyone could sleep on this thing multiple times. He deserved that bed last night though. I’m still trying to wrap my head around that kiss. It was so out of the blue that I knew it was wrong and almost forced, but goddamn did it feel good. Even with it only lasting a few seconds, I could tell his lips fit perfectly with mine. 

It really wasn’t the right time though. I highly doubt he actually wanted that and just felt like it was something he was supposed to do. Mikey really did a number on him. His view of a relationship is so warped it’s unbelievable. 

I get up to go to the bathroom and trip over his box with my foot tangling in the strap of a bag. I catch myself with the arm of the couch and luckily don’t make too much noise. I blindly kick off the bag and look to my bedroom door to make sure I didn’t wake Pete up. I should probably move those in there because I’m sure my feet will find a way to trip over them again and the sharp edge of that coffee table is calling me. I shake off the image of face planting into it and pick up his remaining belongings. 

I open the door slowly and tightly grip the handle to silence any possible noise. It’s pretty dark, but the light from the window brightens the room just enough to make out the furniture. At first I only see the bed as I map out where I can step without bumping into anything. Then I see a flash of light skin and look up to the end of the bed. Shit Pete’s up, I really hope that’s not my fault. 

He tosses his shirt to the sheets and digs through his bag on the dresser. His back is to me and I quickly shut the door slightly upon seeing it. My eyes were immediately drawn to him, I couldn’t help it with the only color in the room being from Pete. The light hit his back just right to see all of the marks and blemishes normally hidden under layered shirts and jackets. 

There were two streaks of lighter skin on his left shoulder blade and a couple red scratches crisscrossing his back. Old bruises speckled his ribs and as he turned slightly I noticed a bandage taped to his shoulder. Despite the purple and yellow stains on his skin, he still had a nice body. Not overly muscular, in fact he looked a bit too skinny with the ridges of his ribs and spine more prominent than the normal “in shape”.

That reminds me, he didn’t eat anything last night. I made myself a sandwich with some chips, but he had already fallen asleep. The poor guy seemed exhausted and I can see why. He cried about five separate times yesterday and that alone can take a serious toll on someone. We were running around packing and carrying things for half the day it’s no wonder he passed out. 

He looked almost peaceful when I sat down in my chair beside the couch. His head slightly tilted toward the pillow and his lips parted. Fuck I shouldn’t be noticing his lips. He just came out of that train wreck of a relationship, I can’t make him think I’m into him. I’m not sure how he would react. He needs a break from the whole dating game for a bit. 

I could tell he was dreaming of something though. His thumb kept twitching and his eyebrows would slightly crease every few minutes. When he rolled over I stopped starring as I realized what I’d been doing for the past half hour. Slowly eating a sandwich while watching Pete sleep is not one of my proudest moments. 

I smirk as I think of it and go to the bathroom to begin my morning ritual. Fuck I’ve got work. I can’t just leave him here, but I don’t think taking off yet another day would look very good. I’ve already got three of my bosses breathing down my neck about these fucking curtain orders. I have to get them in by today or I might as well sign my death wish. 

Pete will be fine, I think to myself as I grab my toothpaste. Yeah I’m sure he can manage, hell I’ll probably come home to a spotless apartment with his obsession for cleaning. Mikey would probably get suspicious if I wasn’t there again. I’m kind of hoping he doesn’t show up because my mouth tends to run a bit when I’m around someone I’ve lied to.

Technically I haven’t told any lies to him, but I’m not exactly clean either. He can’t know Pete’s here and I need to talk to him about getting a restraining order to be safe. If Mikey made all those marks on Pete then I really don’t want him coming near me all hotheaded over actually caring for his boyfriend. _Ex_ boyfriend that is. 

I hear my bedroom door click open and the light padding of feet across the wood floor. I finish up in the bathroom, not bothering with my hair since I’ll be pulling a shirt on and off anyway. I walk out to see Pete shuffling around the kitchen with the refrigerator open. I’m not sure what he’s looking for, but he seems to be pretty caught up in finding it as he frantically searches the cupboards and fridge. 

“What’re you looking for there?” I ask and clear my throat to drag out the grogginess coating my vocal cords.  
“Um... you like coffee right?”  
“Yeah I guess so, why you want some?”  
“Well, I was just going to make breakfast and I figured you-you’d want some.”  
“Oh no, I don’t even know if I have that much time. I usually just have some cereal.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Pete’s voice shakes slightly as he stops his search to look up at me.  
“I... I gotta go to work.”  
“What? No, no he could come here when you’re gone and-“ Pete starts, but I cut off his soon to be panic attack with a wave of my hand.  
“He doesn’t even know you’re here.”  
“But he could’ve figured it out with you not being at work and... wait he’s going to be there! He could hurt you,”  
“He’s not going to, alright? And besides, I think I can take him.” I smirk, but Pete doesn’t seem to find that comment very amusing. 

He backs up at that and grips the counter with one hand. Oh fuck did I say the wrong thing again? Maybe that’s not something I should point out. I’m trying to think if there’s anyone I could possibly call. Leaving him with a stranger wouldn’t be a good idea since he barely seems to trust me at times. 

“Mikey doesn’t know you’re here and if I don’t show up again then he _will_ be suspicious. I’ll start looking for a new job, but right now I really need it.” I explain as I go to grab a cereal box from above the fridge. 

Pete leans back on the counter and studies the floor without a word.  
“What do you like for breakfast?” I ask through the noise of pouring cereal.  
“I don’t eat breakfast.”  
“You were quick to make it just a second ago.” I point out as I grab the milk.  
“Yeah, for you.”  
“Well, why not for yourself too?”

Pete pauses and watches me as I pour the milk in my bowl and turn to him.  
“Sir-“ He starts, but corrects himself when I give him a disapproving look. “ _Michael_ , always had to leave quickly, so I made sure breakfast was ready for him.”  
“Still doesn’t explain why you don’t eat any.”  
“He just... I guess he didn’t really like me eating it and now I’m just not a fan of breakfast.” Pete shrugs again.

“Right, well that’s not gonna fly in this house. You can eat breakfast if you want, in fact I’d rather you did.”  
“What can I eat?”  
“Well, anything really. I’ve got some bread for toast, a few eggs, or just cereal like me.”  
“But what can I have?”

I feel like I need to drill it into his head that he can have whatever he wants. He’s allowed to just fucking live. I’ll definitely stop by here during lunch to make sure he actually eats something. Normally when friends come over I’m fighting to keep them out of the fridge, not pushing them into it. Pete is definitely a special case. 

“Again, whatever you want. I’d like to see you eat though and I’ve gotta go soon so...”  
“Yes, Sir.” Pete replies and goes into some sort of autopilot mode as he grabs a bowl and begins pouring out a little bit of cereal.  
“Please, don’t call me that.”  
“Hmm?”  
“The whole ‘Sir’ thing, I’m not a fan.”  
“Oh, sorry.”  
“No, I get it. It’s like a habit and that’s alright. I mean him making you call him that isn’t alright, but... well you know.” I walk out and he joins me at the table. 

I notice him pick at the cereal with his spoon and chew very slowly as if the taste makes him sick.  
“If you don’t like it you don’t have to eat it, I just figured everyone liked Frosted Flakes.”  
“No, I like it I just don’t wanna be too loud.”  
“Oh please,” I pick up the remote and turn the tv on for some noise. “There now I definitely can’t hear you.”

He smirks and I practically want to run a victory lap around the room for drawing it out. He just needs to learn that this isn’t the same place and I’m definitely not the same guy. I wonder if Mikey was able to provide for himself last night. I’m betting he broke a lot of shit and who’s to say he’s not in jail right now for assaulting a neighbor or something. Should be domestic violence , but we’re still working on that.

I get dressed and meet Pete in the living room.  
“Alright, so I’ve gotta go, but I’ll be back around twelve for lunch and get off at four.”

Pete just nods and I can see his disappointment in those lowered eyes. His leg is bouncing and he rubs his hand on it to calm it as he gets up. I grab my keys and check to make sure I’ve got everything before going over to him.

“You’re going to be alright and if you want maybe one of these days we can look for a job for you too. I can check around if you want since I’ll already be looking for a new one.”  
“Um... yeah if you want.” Pete shrugs.  
“Well, it’s more of your decision, but it’s fine if you don’t want one with everything that’s happened.”  
“No-no I do, I just haven’t had one in a while.”

Pete looks up to me and a smile quivers at his lips as he lifts his hand and runs it through my hair. He messes around with it as I laugh and look up as if I can see what he’s doing. He suddenly stops and nods with satisfaction at his work. I forgot I hadn’t gone back to do anything with my hair, good thing he caught it. I check my phone for the time and rub his arm.

“I’m gonna get going and you’re welcome to anything here. If you’re hungry there’s always food or if you get bored you’re welcome to do whatever”  
“Ok, bye Brendon.”

Hearing my actual name come from those lips sends goosebumps up my arms. He doesn’t say it a lot and I shiver at the thought of being called “Sir”, so hearing my name come out so smoothly is amazing. The last thing I want is to become the new “Sir”.

I say my goodbyes and close the door, wanting nothing more than to go back inside. The first thing I’m doing when I get there is checking for available jobs in the area because I’m really not looking forward to even seeing Miley. I just hope he doesn’t try to talk to me or even mention Pete. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to control myself if I hear his name come out of his mouth. Finding something closer to home would also be a plus in case Pete needs something or Mikey somehow figures out he’s staying here. 

I need to get Pete to file a restraining order against him, but I don’t know where to even begin with that. I’ll add it my list of things to research along with figuring out what Mikey can be charged with. I need to ask Pete if he’s got any priors to help our case. Odds are he won’t want to talk about it, but I need this kind of information to keep him from living in a constant state of fear. Having Mikey behind bars is safer than a few blocks away and that’s where I intend on getting him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s coming in a little late, but it’s still here. Might be kinda short too, but the story’s going somewhere. Hope you guys are liking it so far, comments and kudos are always appreciated!


	10. You’re Running Out Of Places To Hide From Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late, I had this surgery and yeah I was pretty fucked up so here’s this super late update. Thanks for sticking it out this long!

Mikey

He’ll be back. I don’t know what’s gotten into Peter, but he’s been on thin ice for the last few weeks. He just gets so goddamn aggravating because I can tell he thinks I don’t do enough. Sure, he never actually _said_ it, but I could tell. 

I mean I contribute basically all of the income, I can’t help it if the guy’s a damn hermit. All he does when I’m gone is sit around all day watching tv or writing or some shit. The reason we have food is because of me, I earn the money for it, I go out and buy it, so is it too much to ask for him to simply cook a decent meal with all his free time?

Now I’m standing here with some half toasted bread and butter that won’t melt with a cereal bar because I don’t have time for all that other shit Peter makes. I thought we had a nice little system going, but obviously he didn’t appreciate it. The cooking and cleaning must have been too much for his lazy ass.

I get up and throw the plastic plate into the half full sink, he’ll be back soon enough to do those dishes from yesterday. I grab my jacket and get out of the door as fast as I can. I’m already running late and having to turn back and unlock the door to grab my bag doesn’t help. He always reminded me to get it even when it was in my hand which was rather annoying. 

He was alright with keeping everything in order and clean, but now half the apartment looks like it was flipped upside down. All the shit he must have claimed to be his is gone aside from a few anniversary cards I was nice enough to give him. 

Everything started going to Hell when Brendon came over. I wouldn’t be surprised if they fucked while I was gone and now Peter ran off with him like the slut he is. He always did seem to eyeball my friends whenever they came over. It’s the whole reason I can hardly maintain a social life. 

I had to make sure my boyfriend could keep it in his pants long enough to get out a sentence. I’ve already caught him with Gabe who said Peter practically jumped onto him when he walked in. It’s hard keeping someone like that to yourself and he only responds when I have to hit him or yell. 

With Peter there’s no subtle way to just tell him to stop or talk about his antics. I’ve calmed him down a lot since when we first met, but I can still see the old Peter with certain looks that he gives. He was a train wreck back then with ramming his head into walls and pissing on people’s shoes like some fucking dog. Not to mention his reputation for sleeping around and not giving a shit who it was or what they had in their pants. 

I reined him in. _I_ did that, he should be thanking me. But what do I get? A fucking torn apart closet from him rummaging through the clothes I so gratefully bought him and a runaway boyfriend who’s probably nursing a wicked hangover right about now with a slack jaw from sucking some random guy’s dick all night. 

It’s not like he has anyone to go to. All of his “friends” left him when they realized what an unforgiving asshole he was. Half of them were just as bad with encouraging his idiotic stunts and I couldn’t have him running around rampant with them. They used him as the butt of their jokes like he was some dancing monkey, he was just too naive to realize it.

It’s a good thing I got him out of that band and away from that dingy little packaging company. All he was was a glorified pizza delivery guy and it wasn’t doing him any good. Maybe if he had actually done something with his life and didn’t drop out of college he could’ve gotten a better job than that shit hole.

My knuckles whiten around the steering wheel as I wait at the red light brewing on the thought of Peter. I just can’t believe he actually left. He’s too clingy to just be gone though. Despite his knack for flirting and eventually sleeping with other people, he knows who he really loves. He’ll come crawling back probably covered in cum and half dressed. His dick is bound to retox even after all of my hard work with training his self control. 

I’ve been through too much with him to just throw it all away. I guided him through his pill addiction, got him away from all of those terrible influences, and created what I thought was a decent human being. Apparently that just wasn’t good enough for him, _the spoiled little shit_. 

I pull up to my usual parking spot only to find it taken by some cheap little box of a car. Eco-friendly my ass, it’s an eye sore and nothing more, but most importantly it’s sitting there in _my_ parking space. If Peter had just stayed here then I would’ve been on time and beaten that car to my spot. I’d probably be sitting at my desk three phone calls in and gaining yet another sale, but instead I’m roaming around the lot looking for an empty space. I feel like a soccer mom three days before Christmas realizing she forgot poor little Tommy’s matchbox car and is now frantically looking for a place to park at the swarming mall. 

I finally get out of the car after settling on a spot that might as well be two miles away and across the highway. These spaces are like the nosebleeds at a stadium and I just had to give up my front row VIP seat to some air headed tree hugger.

I swear I can’t take this shit tomorrow. He’ll be back, he _wants_ to come back I just know it. I ignore the impulsive “he _needs_ to come back” nagging at my thoughts and push through the front doors. I’m greeted by Alicia at the front desk and nod with a forced smile. She’s really nice and I’d like to go back to that empty meeting room with her like before, but I really need to get to work.

She was just a bounce back of sorts, an impulse if anything. I didn’t purposely cheat on Peter, he fucked Gabe and the next day when I came in Alicia just happened to be saying the right things at the right time and I figured what’s the harm if he already cheated on me? He pulled the same shit with two of my other friends after Gabe and I’d say that gives me a pass to do just about anything I want with whoever I want. He wants an open relationship, well he’s got one.

I thought enough time had passed when I invited Brendon over, but apparently not. I figured I could trust Peter after all I’d done to build up his self-control. He told me himself at one point that he understood I had to do it. I wouldn’t call it disciplining him, that’s a bit of a strong word, but training sounds a little better. I just wanted to help him and keep him away from making bad decisions.

Gabe would understand, he always did. I already texted him about the whole situation last night and I just know he’ll want to talk about it some more. I don’t see him at his desk, but my eyes find themselves drawn to Brendon’s in the corner. I can only see the top of his head with the half wall half window at the front of his desk blocking his face. 

That fucker probably has something to do with it. All those smiles and looks to Peter and then wanting to come back over. Well that fucking home wrecker isn’t about to steal my boyfriend and I’m a hair’s inch away from going over there and slamming his head against the keyboard. Not here. Not now. We need to talk first, I’d rather not catch another assault charge. Especially not at my job with the manager ten feet away. 

I sit at my desk and suddenly hear a tap on my wall behind me. I turn to the skyscraper known as Gabe Saporta as he bends in to whisper something.

“So, have you seen him?” He asks with raised eyebrows.  
“Who? Peter? No and I haven’t heard anything from him, but I will.”  
“Oh I’m sure he’ll be back. I just... the balls on that guy to just get up and leave.”  
“Yeah it took me by surprise too.”

I’m not sure why I get a long with Gabe. He’s a little too immature for my taste, but we have similar views and music taste. Him and Frank are the only other people here that I met through the music scene years ago. I was closer with Frank, but it was all a coincidence that we worked here. When I came, Frank was not long after, and then Gabe the wrecking ball showed up. 

He reminds me a lot of the old Peter which is alright when you’re not dating him. It’s at least entertaining, but I can only take so much of him. Luckily Gabe can usually tell when I’m not in the mood for talking and makes a move to leave.

“Hey, wait.” I stop him and his head snaps back to me. “What do you know about Brendon?”  
“New guy?” He lightly nods to Brendon’s desk. “Nothing really, I know he like lives somewhere around here. I don’t know what he was doing yesterday, but I almost lost a customer of his when I filled in for him.”  
“He wasn’t here?”  
“Nope, sick I guess.”

I hum and turn back to my computer, signaling Gabe to leave. I didn’t even realize he was gone yesterday. The same day Peter somehow miraculously packed up all of his things and disappeared without so much as a goodbye. Well unless I count that half assed text he sent after he was already gone.

It’s so like Peter to text something like that rather than say it in person. He doesn’t even have the balls to call because I’m sure he couldn’t even say it out loud. If you’re going to leave someone, do it like a man and say it to their face. That’s how I know he’s not permanently gone. That pussy couldn’t handle life without me and he knows it.


	11. It’s Just A Matter Of Time Until We’re All Found Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I’ve been really busy lately, but I am almost done with another fic. It just needs a few lines added and another run through, but I’d say it’s well on its way to being finished. It’s pretty different from this one, but I honestly had more fun writing it. (I think it’s better too but you didn’t hear it from me)   
> Anyway, hope you’re still diggin’ this story.

Pete

Static courses through my legs as I sink further into the couch cushion. I’ve been sitting here for too long, but I don’t know what else I can do. Brendon didn’t seem to like it when I cleaned, so that’s out of the question. He said I could play video games if I wanted, but I don’t know how to work his tv and I don’t wanna fuck it up. 

I’m already staying in his home, I don’t want to brake any of his things. He might be ocd like Michael and get really upset if I move anything. I can understand that, I used to do the same thing. The disorder of this apartment _does_ bother me, but it’s Brendon’s place. Not mine. It’s beyond generous enough that he let me sleep in his bed and respected my privacy enough to not sneak in last night. I thought I heard the door click this morning, but it could’ve just been him closing the fridge or something. 

I decide to move my things back beside the couch and out of his room before going to take a shower. I don’t want him to feel compelled to let me sleep there again. That bed was surprisingly comfortable and despite wincing a bit when I look at the slanted couch, I’m still thankful I’m here at all. I’m honestly still a little confused with why I’m here. There’s got to be some reason, but Brendon’s had every chance to do something. If I’d stayed with one of Michael’s friends we probably would’ve ended up fucking in the car before even driving over here. I really wish Michael could have understood when I told him I didn’t want to kiss or even have anyone else besides him touch me, but maybe he was right. I did practically let them be all over me. I didn’t fight, I might as well have asked for it.

He always said I stared too much at other people and I don’t mean to. I’m usually just thinking of something and they happen to be in the way. My parents also told me to look at people when they talk to you, but maybe that’s just something you do as a kid. Once you’re in a relationship with someone you shouldn’t look at anyone who isn’t your partner. That’s at least the message I got from Michael and I can see how it makes sense... it’s just hard to not try and look at someone for too long. 

The water runs down my back as my mind wanders with each passing thought and I’m just starting to get comfortable when I hear a door open. My arms panic more than my head and grip the wall to try and get further from the bathroom door before I can give it much thought. There’s no lock on it, so anyone could just burst through here. It can’t be Sir, he doesn’t know I’m here. He can’t know, there’s no possible way he could have found out. 

I quickly shut the water off and wrap a towel around my waste. My wide eyes roll over the toilet and I grab the back cover as a weapon. It’s certainly heavy enough to knock someone out if I have to and dammit I won’t hesitate this time. I can’t go back there.

My arms tense as I lift it up and stare at the door ready to strike. All I can hear are the little drops of water falling to the tile with the trail of suds slipping down my shoulder. I jolt and nearly drop the cover when I hear a cough and a voice to follow it.

“Hey, Pete, it’s just me. I’m on break, so I can make you something if you want.”  
Fuck it’s just Brendon, alright, you’re okay.  
“Ye-yeah.” I lower the cover and place it back on the toilet quietly. I can’t believe I almost knocked him out like that, but there is a small twinge of pride as I realize I was actually ready to defend myself. A sign that there’s at least some part of me not racked with guilt over leaving Michael.

I dry off and get dressed despite not fully finishing my shower. I’m surprised he didn’t open the door, Michael did that a lot after I took a shower. That was usually the time he would see how I was doing weight wise. I never liked that time. He’d always point out what needed to be fixed and it usually ended in a couple “two nights without dinner” or “no lunch tomorrow”s. 

That’s why I wanted to take a shower after Brendon left, so he wouldn’t do that, but he didn’t even make a move to come inside. He probably just doesn’t want to see me. 

I avoid the mirror and join Brendon at the countertop where an empty plate sits beside him. He’s half turned to watch the tv with a sandwich in hand before he looks to me. 

“I like your hair like that.” He says before taking another bite.  
“Wet?”  
“Yeah, but anyway the stuff for sandwiches is by the stove. Just make whatever you like.”

 

Brendon

Fuck. I can’t tell him about Mikey. I don’t know how, but that fucker knows something. He ran into me in the parking lot and just gave me this look. That disgusted and almost angry look that I’m sure has been thrown at Pete more times than I’d like to count. 

He didn’t even apologize and instead started asking where I was yesterday. Not exactly subtle, but it got the point across that he knew something was up. I just told him I was sick, but I doubt he believed it. He just kind of nodded and walked off with a barely audible goodbye. 

There’s not much more I could’ve said, is there? I even threw in a cough at the end and wiped my nose, but maybe that was too much. It’s not like he can do anything though. I mean, this is _my_ apartment. He can’t just waltz in. When could he even have time for that anyway? I get off work at the same time as him, so as long as I’m either here or at work where he should be then we’re alright. 

I watch Pete add turkey to his sandwich and nothing else. It all looks a little flat, but if that’s what he wants then sure. I smirk at his bland plate as he notices me staring.

“What?” He laughs and fuck I love it when he does that no matter how simple of an action it may be.  
“Nothing, it’s just... plain is all.” I shrug and look back to my plate.  
“I don’t like all that extra stuff, gets in the way.” 

That’s a strange way of putting it, but that’s just Pete. He seems like he can be kind of weird, but so am I. Hopefully I can get him to open up a bit more which seems to be working so far.

He sits beside me and continues to explain why his sandwich is so much better than mine which is currently stuffed with lettuce, tomato, cheese, ham, and some mustard sauce that I bought purely for the strange shape of the bottle. 

It’s really hard not to bring up the obvious elephant in the room until Pete finally asks.  
“So how’s work so far?”  
“It’s alright.”  
“Was he there?” Pete whispers more than just says as if someone could be watching us right now. 

The thought of lying and denying even that simple question crosses my mind, but it’s better to keep things honest in this situation.

“Yeah, he hardly ever misses a day.”  
“Has he said anything?” Pete almost sounds expectant as the words slip from his mouth.  
“He asked where I was yesterday and I told him I was sick, which is what I called in saying, so if he checks with anyone they’ll say the same thing.”

Pete just nods and takes another bite of his sandwich, eyes drawn to the suddenly interesting countertop.  
“So what have you done so far? Having the time of your life yet?” I ask with a hint of sarcasm.  
“Oh yeah, having a blast. I swear it feels like I’m at Disney World sometimes.” He chuckles again with an eye roll. “No, I’ve really just watched some tv and then went to take a shower. Nothing major.”  
“You’re good though? You don’t need anything?” I mask this a bit like I’m asking to go buy him something, but I honestly want to make sure he hasn’t had like a panic attack or anything while I was gone.

He shakes his head and I go to throw away my paper plate before grabbing some chips. My phone suddenly begins vibrating and starts to glide across the counter, but Pete catches it and looks at the screen. He nearly drops the phone and quickly puts it back to the counter.

“What?”  
“It’s-it’s _him_.”  
Before even asking what he means I pick up the phone to see Mikey’s name glowing back at me. I don’t answer and just set it back down. It’s really strange, he hasn’t called me in a long time.

“Why-why’s he calling you?” Any sign of happiness is wiped away by his furrowed brow as Pete shifts uncomfortably in his seat.  
“I don’t know, he hasn’t called in a long time.”

My phone buzzes again with a text.  
 **Mikey** : Hey, the deli I was going to run by is closed. You want to go get something with me?

“Oh, he’s just asking to go out for lunch, but don’t worry, I won’t. I’m not even going to open it.”  
“You’re that close with him?”   
“We’ve gone out to lunch before, just usually with Gabe or Frank.”  
“You know, I’ve never met Frank, but I hear about him a lot.”  
“He’s a pretty cool guy, Gabe’s nice too. You’d like them.”

Pete just looks back to his half eaten sandwich that’s now discarded on his plate. Whatever I said seems to have quieted him down, but I don’t want to send him into tears with questions like before. Especially not when I have to get going soon and I can’t just leave him here like that.

“I know Gabe, he’s come over before.” Pete finally mutters and rests his cheek in his palm with a ruined appetite apparently.  
“Oh really? You seem like you’d get along.”  
“Yeah... I mean, no like... he’s alright.”

Pete shrugs and gets up from the table and leaves me wondering what the fuck kind of answer that was. Does he like Gabe? I don’t mind, he can like whoever he wants, but is that what that was? He got a little nervous when I said his name and that jumbled up answer was certainly suspicious. 

He moves to the couch and fiddles with the pillow in his lap.   
“Do you...” I’m treading on some seriously thin ice here. “Do you like, _like_ him?”  
“No.” He replies before I can even get the last word out, which nearly confirms my belief.  
“Uh-huh, _right_.”  
“Seriously, Brendon, it’s not like-I don’t wanna talk about it, okay?” 

I simply nod and join him on the couch with my bag of chips.  
“Alright, we don’t have to.” He still won’t look at me and continues to pick at the loose string. “I’m sorry you gotta just stay here all day. I started searching for jobs around here and there’s a couple store clerk openings and some type of assistant somewhere.”

Pete just hums and I take that as a polite turn down. “I just don’t wanna run into him.”  
“Yeah, I get it. You don’t have to get a job if you don’t want one yet either. I was just, you know, looking around in case you got tired of being cooped up in here all the time.”

I offer him some chips, but he simply shakes his head. I announce that I should be going because traffic is a fucking nightmare around this time. I open Mikey’s text and tell him I already got something, careful to make sure it was already too late to join him. His car’s probably glued to the road in a bumper to bumper rat trap on Main Street right about now, which is where I’ll be heading anyway.

We trade goodbyes as I leave and make my way back to that hell hole. I really hope Mikey doesn’t try and confront me about anything. Pete’s said he’s all about testing people and I’m sure that call was one of them. He can only make assumptions as long as I can control my responses and not sound too obvious... which is easier said than done. 

I’m not sure what it is, the way Mikey narrows his eyes and kind of hovers over me despite only being an inch or two taller. I can see why Pete doesn’t want to run into him, even without the shit he put him through. Trying to have any normal conversation with him when you know you’ve done something to earn a spot on his hit list is nearly impossible. 

I try not to think of it as I enter my car and prepare myself for the traffic that takes up half my lunch break. I really hope Pete doesn’t stress about Mikey calling me. He seemed to grow oddly suspicious at that, but I think I was able to distract him with talking about Gabe. I’m not sure what the story is behind that one, but I kind of don’t want to know. Maybe they were a thing at some point and had a bad breakup or perhaps Gabe was just as shitty as Mikey. Who knows, but right now I just need to focus on controlling my facial expressions when I see Mikey again because it’s only inevitable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the chapter, again comments and kudos are always appreciated. I’m going to go and actually work on the next chapter to try and get it posted at the right time!


	12. You Only Hold Me Up Like This, ‘Cause You Don’t Know Who I Really Am

Brendon didn’t really talk about work for the next few days and pretty soon I just stopped asking. I didn’t want to get on his nerves about the subject or have him bring up Gabe again. He doesn’t need to know about that and if I could erase that day from my memory completely I would. A part of me didn’t want to hear about Michael again either, but curiosity always had a way of biting me. 

I mainly wanted to know if he ever asked about me or at the very least seemed upset. Michael was never really open about his feelings, but I would have expected some change of mood with my absence. I mean, he loved me didn’t he? I know I loved him and if he had left I’d be running around the place wondering just what the fuck I was going to do. I’d be hoping that he was okay and not lying face down in a gutter or hanging a limp hand out of a dumpster. Kind of how I’m worrying right now I suppose.

Brendon couldn’t know about these thoughts though. He didn’t really like it when I talked about Michael in a loving way. I just... I really miss him right now. Usually these thoughts come and go throughout the day, but this had been sticking with me for nearly two days. One minute I’ll be watching tv, thinking about the soccer game playing and the next I’m overcome with the weight of guilt on my chest. The thorns of my tattoo practically digging into me as Mikey’s smile crossed my mind. 

Sometimes I’ll come across a shirt while folding laundry and I swear it still smells like him no matter how many times I wash it. The first few nights were bitter hell as I lied awake with the smell of his shampoo stuck to the sleeve of my shirt. Pretty soon I just started going shirtless, but the scent still seemed to linger. I didn’t want Brendon to see me though, so I made a habit of waking up early to change like I did back home. Or Michael’s place. Not home. This is home now. 

Today was no different as I paced the now spotless kitchen. Brendon was going to be so pissed. I was just kind of stressing out over the whole thing and I had to do something. He doesn’t like it when I clean, but now the kitchen reeked of lemons and bleach as the spray bottle mockingly sat half empty on the reflective stove top. I wiped the counters, swept the floor, organized the cabinets, and almost started vacuuming before finally stopping. 

I only stopped because: A. I didn’t know where the vacuum was or if he even had one and judging by the stain and crumb infested carpet I’d say he didn’t and B. I could picture his furious face as he walked in and saw what I’d done. I didn’t mean to, I just needed something for my hands to grab onto. It was either clean or start throwing plates and I figured I might as well help rather than destroy. I just didn’t realize in the moment that I wasn’t helping by cleaning. It was different here and I needed to learn that.

Brendon needed to teach me like Sir had, that’s all there is to it. So now as I sit here curled up in front of the cupboard with my head resting on my knees, tears quickly make their way down when I hear the chiming of keys outside the door. 

“Hey, Pete, it’s me.” Brendon greets like he always does to assure me it’s not Sir, but right now it might as well be.  
I don’t respond and let out a tight sob before sucking it back in. I can’t cry, he doesn’t like that just like Sir didn’t either. 

“Pete, woah, woah, what’s going on?” I flinch back at the sound of his bag hitting the wood as he comes over to kneel down.  
“I... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” I clench my eyes shut and prepare for him to retaliate in some way.  
“What? What happened?” 

His voice is strangely soft, but I don’t trust that. Sir would sometimes do that too right before striking. He always knew what I did even if I didn’t and I’m sure Brendon knows too. He’s going to at least realize within the next few minutes. I let out another sob, but try to mask it with a cough.

“Pete, I’m sure whatever you did isn’t that bad.” Suddenly his hand is on my shoulder and I let out a short whimper. He’s going to squeeze it or twist it, he’s got to.  
“I-I... please don’t.”  
“Don’t what?” His thumb rubs a small circle as I tighten my grip on my knees.  
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I-I just, I needed to do s-something and,”  
“It’s alright, hey look, it’s alright.”

He seems to try and half hug me, but it’s a bit hard with my back on the cupboard, so he ops for just resting his head on my shoulder with an arm over my neck. I shake my head and he moves away slightly.

“No. It’s-it’s not. Just... please only one?”  
“One what?”  
I lift my head for the first time since he’s gotten here, but I don’t look at him. I simply hold out my left arm and wince back. He’s got a belt on unless he wants to use something else... or do something else. 

He still doesn’t say anything and I take that as my cue to leave. I nod and go to his bedroom. He doesn’t follow me, but I didn’t expect him to. He must want me to pick it out, sometimes Sir would do that, but it was usually very rare. He always wanted to make sure I didn’t just grab the least painful one, so maybe that’s what Brendon does. I’ve never liked having to pick or even hold a belt. I felt like I had to literally pick my poison with the ultimate walk of shame from the closet and back. Hell death row is more appealing than this.

I find a decently thick leather one hanging in his closet that shouldn’t be too bad. The thicker they were, the less pain they inflicted. It was still going to hurt like hell, but it at least wouldn’t brake the skin. I return and stare at the buckle between my fingers before handing it to him. 

He takes it and I reluctantly turn my shoulder to him and wince back. I wait for a few seconds that feel like hours before opening my eyes.

“Pete I-“  
“Just d-do it, Sir.” I mutter before I hear the clang of the metal buckle hit the floor.  
“I don’t do that, alright? I’m not him.”

My breath stutters as my chest rises up and down and I reflect my widened gaze to the belt. I look up to his hands and relax a bit when I don’t see fists. I stand up straighter before fully looking up to him. 

“Now, what do you think you did?”  
“I... I cleaned and-and you don’t like it when I clean, so I’m sorry,”  
“No, that’s fine. I don’t mind when you clean, I just don’t want you to feel like you _have_ to.”  
“I just-I missed Michael and I needed something to do to not think.”  
“That’s alright, you’re allowed to miss him and clean if that helps. I don’t really like cleaning, so I don’t really see how it would, but if it does then great.”  
“What?”  
“It’s like killing two birds with one stone. It helps you and cleans up this shit hole.”

“It’s not-it’s not a shit hole.”  
“You might think that, but compared to your old place it certainly is.”  
I smirk a little at that before looking around at the newly organized space.

“Thank you for cleaning, but why would I ever get mad over something like that?”  
“I just didn’t think you liked it.”  
“I only didn’t like seeing you feel forced to clean or waking up in the middle of the night to do it. I’d never hit you over that.”

I don’t really know how to respond to that one and avert my eyes to the counter.  
“How many times has that happened?” I can tell Brendon is being very careful with his wording as they seem to slow more and more as the question draws on.

There’s a spike of panic in the back of my head as I pull up my sleeves, but this is really the only way I could tell. I can’t remember every time that didn’t leave some mark, but doing this could at least get me in the ball park. 

I turn my scarred arm over and count each one before going to the next. Brendon doesn’t say a word, just raises his eyebrows, but stops me as I go to take my jacket off.

“You really don’t have to.”  
“Oh... sorry.”  
“No don’t be, I’m just sorry you even have all of those.”  
“I mean, _you_ didn’t do them... it was twenty seven by the way.”  
“Holy shit,”  
“I know, it’s weird he ended on an odd number. Usually he keeps them even, but he also didn’t know I’d be leaving so.” I shrug.  
“Okay, that is _not_ why I said that. That’s way more than I thought... it shouldn’t have happened at all, dude.”

“Well, technically it’s only like twenty five if you don’t count the ones from the stairs.”  
“Stairs?”  
“Yeah he pushed me down the stairs a few times, but that was only cause-“  
“No, there’s no circumstance where that would be okay.”  
“But,”  
“No, Peter! That’s not alright, ever.”  
“Okay, I’m sorry, you’re right.”

I let my head fall again and look back to the belt. This seemed to be pissing him off and I’d honestly like to just forget the whole thing. Can’t we just go to our respective beds and call it a night? I’m pretty tired and he’s not reacting very well to seeing my arms. I knew I shouldn’t have showed him. It’s a good thing I didn’t take off my shirt, he’d probably be so disgusted I’d be living in the downstairs lobby from now on. 

The only time I hear the name Peter is when a belt is being snapped and I’m just preparing for it to be picked up. I mean it’s inevitable, so just get it over with already. A belt, a bottle, a spoon, anything. Now why the fuck am I still standing here?

“No, this isn’t your fault.”  
“But, no it is I-“  
“There is nothing you could possibly do that would make you deserve that. It’s not self defense, it’s fucking torture.” Brendon gestures to the belt sitting idly at his feet.  
“No, but-“  
“Can you please repeat after me, it’s not self defense, it’s _fucking torture_.”  
“I was a bad boyfriend though, he had to.”

“No he didn’t, Jesus Christ. It’s not-“  
“Stop alright! I was a fucking terrible person!” My hands yank through my hair as I shake my head and snap my eyes shut. “He helped me!”  
“He whipped you!”  
“Yeah, well maybe I needed it!” I snap and throw my hands down to look at him.

“He brainwashed you, it’s not your fault. He’s just an-“  
“Stop. Stop. Fucking stop.” I spit before bolting to the bedroom and almost tripping over my bags.

I slam the door shut and quickly slip my fingers on the lock before realizing there isn’t one. 

Why the fuck aren’t there any locks in this goddamn place!? 

I ignore it and sit behind the bed to get as far away from the door as possible. I bury my head in my sleeves before noticing his closet. He won’t be able to hear me in there and maybe it’s got a lock, who knows? I crawl over to it and slide the door shut before letting out a choked sob. 

This closet is smaller, but it reminds me of the one back home. I used to hide in it when Sir got home and had texted me about something horrible about work beforehand because I knew it was going to come back to me somehow. I stopped hiding in there after a while though. He said it was childish and only made things worse. Brendon’s is more cramped and I can feel a zipper digging into my back, but at least it doesn’t smell like Sir.

I’m overcome with the smell of plaster and lavender, any sign of home is gone in here. The sour stench of old shoes also tickles my nostrils, but I can ignore that. Crying always stuffs up my nose, so pretty soon I wont be able to smell anything anyway.

I look up at the hanging belts and my throat tightens at the sight of them. I press myself against the wall and keep my head down, trying to get as far as I can. The hanging shirts and jackets hide my head slightly like makeshift curtains and that comforts me slightly. Just seeing them is enough to almost throw me into a near panic attack. I can feel it building up and fuck why did I come in here again?

After a few minutes, I hear the bedroom door open and Brendon’s voice entering, but I just pull at my hair and subconsciously will him to leave. I should’ve gone out of the apartment entirely. I should’ve run down the hallway and down the stairs to find a place where he wouldn’t find me. I should have gone home. Sir would keep him away, I know it. Back there I didn’t have to talk about any of this or answer these questions. If I’d just stayed everything would be fine and I’d be eating dinner with Michael right now. 

Instead I’m sitting in a closet balling my eyes out over what could have happened. What I could have done to kick Brendon out in the first place. Why the fuck can’t I ever do that? Sir has one rule while he’s gone and that’s to not let anyone in, but it seems like every time someone knocks I still answer. Why can’t I just do what he says? This is why we have rules, I know I didn’t like them when I was younger, but home rules make sense. This is what happens when you brake them.

You get stuck in a stranger’s home, tip toeing around their house because you don’t want to brake their rules. Especially when they don’t like your old ones. I was supposed to clean, now I don’t. I was supposed to cook, now I don’t. I was supposed to not yell, and now I have. Now Brendon’s mad again because he yelled back and I haven’t done that in a seriously long time.

With Michael, I knew not to yell just by the looks he gave. With Brendon I can’t tell and we ended up yelling back and forth and I fucked it all up. I shouldn’t have yelled and now he’s pissed again. He just... I didn’t like the shit he was saying and I couldn’t help it. 

This is why we had fucking rules.  
This is why Brendon should have made them clear.  
Now I’m just confused and I don’t know what he wants.

I hear a light tap on the door that cuts off my thoughts.  
“Hey, look I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all of that.” Brendon pauses, but I really don’t know how to respond to that. “It was too far, it’s not my place to say those things.”  
“Damn right it’s not.” I mutter and shoot my head up when I hear a muffled chuckle.

He could hear that? Why was he laughing... that wasn’t funny. Sir would throw the door open and drag me out of here by my head if he heard that. Why wasn’t Brendon? This is all just too weird.

“Yeah, it’s not. I’m really sorry though, seriously.”  
“It’s-it’s okay... just please, no more questions.”  
“No more questions.” Brendon assures me.

I open the door a sliver and meet his eyes for half a second as he turns to me, but quickly look down at his hands to check them. 

“I’m sorry.” I mess with the sleeve of a jacket absentmindedly to keep him from noticing my hands are shaking.  
“No don’t be, that was all on me.”  
“I shouldn’t have yelled and-and I slammed the door and then went in here.”  
“You can go in here, you can go anywhere if you want.”

“Can you just... can you tell me the rules?” I finally get out what I’ve been wanting to ask ever since I stepped through the door for the first time.  
“Rules?”  
“Yeah like, back home I wasn’t supposed to hide in the closet or yell or call him M-Mik-his name or,”  
“You’re allowed to do all of those things.”  
“Re-really?”  
“Yeah, you can slam as many doors as you want, yell from the goddamn rooftops... within reason, I’ve still got neighbors so maybe not so loud all the time. But yeah, if you get angry go ahead and shout if you need to.”

“So what should I not do?”  
“I guess... don’t brake any laws? I mean, I smoke weed from time to time so you can do that too, but I guess just don’t like murder anyone or rob someone.”  
“I think-I think I can manage that.” I wipe my nose with a grin.

He eventually gives me a hand once I open the door all the way. My breath is still hitching a bit, so I go to the bathroom to try and calm down some more. I still feel like crying, or I should say my lungs still feel like crying. My chest is still rising and falling pretty heavily, but I try to keep my breathing under control. 

I look in the mirror and glare at the pathetic red eyes staring back at me. My hair sticks up wildly from pulling at it and I try and pat it down with some water, but it doesn’t do much. How the hell was I still here? I look like _this_ and Brendon still lets me be around him? 

My cheeks are still burning with a mixture of shame and pure longing. Longing for Michael, for _Mikey_. I need to get over him, but what I want more than anything is to just know if he at least misses me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this was alright, I ran through it pretty late, so I hope there’s not any typos. I also hope you guys are enjoying it! Feel free to leave any comments and kudos would be great!


	13. Can I meet you alone? Another night and I'll see you

Mikey

 

Alright, it’s been a week now, I gave him his little vacation, but it’s fucking time to come back now. I tried, I really did. I tried to give him his chance to come back on his own and he just hasn’t. Well enough of that bullshit.

I fucking know Brendon has something to do with it too. It all started going downhill after his little visit and I see the looks he gives me. He really thinks I don’t see him behind my back right now. His eyes are practically sewn to my neck as his glare intensifies. 

What, he doesn’t think the window beside me is reflective? He’s been completely avoiding me since our run-in outside and just ignores my texts for lunch, but apparently has plenty of time to study my back as if he’s narrating some nature documentary. I don’t need him, I can get anyone in this office to come. I don’t need that little lying bastard’s company. 

I move my chair back and see him turn away as I get up. I stalk over to Gabe’s corner and he jumps slightly as I lean over his desk. He quickly takes his earbuds out and looks up to me with an awkward grin.

“Hey, I need you to do something for me.” I whisper and glance back to Brendon.  
“Yeah, sure what’s up?” Gabe replies a little too loudly.  
“Think you could look up Brendon’s address? I’m pretty sure that’s where he’s got Peter.”  
“Oh, well, that’s not really my department. Ray could do it though, he’s got everyone’s files.”  
“Yeah, but Ray wouldn’t do this. He’d be all ‘it’s against company policy’ and all that bullshit.” I mock and look over to Ray’s office despite the door being closed.

“Well, what are you doing after work? You could just follow him.”  
“I’ve got shit to do with that new account, think you could?”  
“I guess, but-“  
“Good, text me the address when you get it.”

I walk away before he can protest and make some ridiculous excuse in true Gabe fashion. I wouldn’t even need him if there weren’t three Brendon Uries living in the area. Looking up his name resulted in two Brendon B. Uries and one Brendon W. Urie. I don’t know his middle name or anything, so Gabe is the last resort. You wouldn’t think it would be such a common name, but apparently we need three of him. I go to sit back at my desk before catching Brendon starring at me and giving him one last look before he turns away. Fucking pussy.

Now it’s my turn to watch Brendon as he shuts down his computer and collects his things. I quickly look over to Gabe who also begins to shuffle around his cluttered desk and try to leave. It’s all rather clumsy and I can’t believe I’m actually putting my trust into this guy as his fingers scatter across the keyboard to finish up something last minute. 

Brendon is already walking passed the receptionist as Gabe finally grabs his bag and begins to follow him with papers falling to the floor from his desk. He doesn’t seem to notice and continues to speed walk out of the door behind Brendon. 

About fifteen minutes later my phone buzzes and I grab it almost immediately. 

**Gabe** : He’s on Pedova Dr. in a brick apartment complex. I never bean down here, it’s not baf.

I ignore his typos and terrible grammar and begin collecting my things. I don’t even reply to his text, I simply get up and make my way to the door. I nod to Alicia as I pass her and get down the elevator. I put the street name in my phone before reaching my car and getting out of here. 

I can’t do anything today, not while Brendon’s there, but tomorrow is a different story. Once Peter sees me he’ll come right back. I know he will, he’s probably been lost without having me there. 

I reach my car and start it up as the little voice tells me to make a right despite not being out of the parking lot yet. Fucking sounds like Peter when I’d let him ride with me. Try to point shit out to me while I’m trying to drive. Fucking careless idiot.

I weave through traffic and finally turn down Brendon’s street to see his car parked not too far away. I look up to see the brick building towering over my car as if it knows I’m not supposed to be here. The windows gleam with the distant sun as I think of the possibility of Pete being behind one of them. The black fluff of his head peaking through the curtains like he would do at my place whenever someone showed up or I locked myself out. 

I kind of miss that golden retriever-like home greeting as if I was the only thing he could possibly look forward to. Now I’ll march up there and it will be just like those dog videos of the owner coming home for the first time in a while. Yeah just like that, but not yet. We need to let this sit for just a little while longer. Only a few hours and then I’ll make my big appearance. 

Peter will fly into my arms at the sight of me and we will go back home and continue our daily routine. He better at least, there’s no way he could like it here. I mean look at this shit hole. The gutter’s clogged and I think growing mushrooms of it’s own, the gate is all rusted, and the poor attempt at growing a small garden to line the sidewalk has been reduced to a mere thicket of weeds. 

My apartment looks like someone actually cares about the appearance. Now, over the past week it may have lost its touch a bit with the scattered laundry and cracked countertop from a certain bottle being smashed there, but it’s still better than _this_. Once Peter’s back that will all be taken care of anyway. He’ll be glad to do it too.

I keep my car rolling as I get one last glance at the windows before driving on. Tomorrow morning, that’s when I’ll pay my own little visit and take my prize back. Brendon will just think he left on his own or realized he needed me. The world will fall back into place and we can all continue on with our lives even if Brendon’s includes a black eye and a cut here or there. 

 

Pete

 

I jump slightly as I here the lock click and door open, but Brendon announces his entry and I relax a bit. I’m getting more used to his schedule though. I at least don’t run to the bedroom and attempt to barricade myself in the closet or grab the nearest object for a weapon. Now it’s just a slight skip of my heart which is much more welcoming for Brendon than coming home to see me wielding a spork. Yes, that was my weapon of choice a few days ago. 

We laugh about it now, but he almost got a spork to the neck and that was a big no. It’s a good thing he doesn’t have a gun anywhere because I’d probably be rotting in a cell by now. Sporks and chop sticks are much more comical than bullets. 

I look away from my puzzle and up to Brendon as he sets his bag down at the door. He realized he had a few board games I could play since I never really brought up the issue of not knowing how to work his Xbox. Of course, each board game needs more than one player besides this old puzzle I found at the bottom of the stack. It’s going to be some old diner and I’ve already gotten two of the booths done which I’m pretty proud of honestly. 

“How was work?” I ask as usual.  
“It was good, but I think tomorrow I’m going to finally give in my two weeks notice.”  
“Oh... are you going to work at that bar?”  
“No, I need a bartenders license for that and the closest I am is just being drunk in general.” 

I laugh and look away as he leans over to see my masterpiece of a puzzle.  
“Oh, that’s coming along great.”  
“Thanks, but I’m pretty sure there’s supposed to be a guy there,” I point to the empty booth. “but somehow I fit the pieces without him.”  
“What the fuck? That’s really weird, but anyway I need to talk to you after I get changed.”   
“Oh, ok...” I trail off and look back at the pieces scattered before me.

Fuck what does he want to talk about? I didn’t do anything bad. I didn’t clean, I didn’t shout, and I didn’t brake anything. Maybe he wants me gone, maybe I’ve overstayed my welcome. I’ve been here for a week and honestly I didn’t think I’d be here even this long. 

I look to my bags that are nearly empty as my clothes are currently in the washer. I was actually wearing a pair of Brendon’s shorts which was strange, I haven’t worn shorts in a long time. Usually I go for sweats or jeans, but my legs feel so free like this. I hadn’t realized I missed shorts even if they show the small scar on my knee. I’m pretty sure that was from Michael braking a bottle and shoving me to my knees. Yeah that wasn’t a very fun night. 

Brendon comes back out in some more comfortable looking clothes as his collard shirt was traded in for a tank top with shorts to match mine. 

“So, look...” He starts and leans on the counter as I push my chair back to look more invested in this conversation I’ve been dreading. “I think we should get you somewhere.”  
“What? What does that mean?”  
“I don’t want to freak you out or anything, but I’ve seen Mikey talking and all and I think we should find you a safer place to be.”  
“He knows I’m here?” I begin to panic, but he stops me and comes over.

“No, I just think we should find you a place that can help you.”  
“You mean a shrink? I’m not talking to-“  
“I think we should just do our research and see if there’s a place for... for people like you.”  
“Like me?”  
“Yeah, like, others that have been through what you have. There’s people much more capable than me that can help you through this.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t want to hear me bitch and moan anymore. I get that. I can be annoying and I wouldn’t want to be practically walking on eggshells around someone you’re afraid of setting off in your own home. 

“I just, I just think they can really help you in ways I can’t.”  
“Yeah.”  
“You’ve gotten so much better though, seriously. Your speech has improved immensely and you’re not jumping at me with sporks anymore.” He laughs lightly and looks back up to me. “I know there’s things you don’t tell me and that’s alright. But having a doctor or someone to talk to would really help I think.”

“I don’t know, I don’t like talking to people about it.” I look down to the table and rest my head on my hand. “They ask too many questions.”  
“Well, that’s their job.”  
“It’s not your’s.” I add quickly and immediately regret it.  
“Well yeah, but-“  
“I’m sorry.” My voice cracks on sorry as I look back up to him and curse my vocal cords.

“No, it’s alright, I get it. I promised I wouldn’t ask questions and I’m not. I’m simply suggesting a better solution.”  
“You... you don’t want me here?”  
“No, that’s not it at all. I just think there’s certain things that have really affected you more than you think and there’s professionals out there to help. People way more qualified than me.”

I nod and flip a puzzle piece between my fingers as I let the silence settle.  
“Just think about it okay?”  
I nod again before he turns to the kitchen.

I like this place. This place is safe, but it’s not home. It’s not permanent, but I don’t want to go and live in some psych ward for the rest of my life because I’m too much of a pussy to handle the real world. Michael was right, leaving was a horrible idea. He always told me not to and then I completely disobeyed him and now look where I’m at.

He’s not the right place to go though, I know that now, it’s just... I feel like I _have_ to go back. Like I was meant to be with him no matter what. I know his reactions to certain things aren’t healthy, but I always thought we would get past that. It wasn’t pure torture every hour of the day. It was only when I fucked up or someone upset him, other than that it was a great relationship.

He seemed to love me and even said it back a few times. Why couldn’t we just live in those moments everyday?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little late, but it’s here! Hope you guys are still into this fic. I should be putting out a new one in a little bit, but anyway kudos and comments are always great to see.


	14. It’s The Wrongs That Make The Words Come To Life

Pete 

 

Brendon gave me an empty notebook last night and told me to write in it any time I wasn’t feeling good. I’m not positive on what he means by “good”, but this seemed like a nice gesture. Maybe it would help too. I mean, I have been thinking about a lot lately.

Michael crosses my mind at least twenty times a day: where he is, what he’ll do if he finds me, what I’d be doing right now if I’d never left. Brendon comes up in my thoughts quite a bit, as well as my old friends. I still don’t have a phone, but I think of using the house phone and calling them up nearly everyday. 

Not that I can really remember any of their numbers, but I always imagine what their voices sound like now. Whether they’re different or not. Andy usually narrates my thoughts whenever I get something to eat. I wonder if he’s still vegan and all that. It’s better to have his random little comments about the turkey in my sandwich rather than Michael’s scolding over eating _both_ halves of it. 

I really do try to keep his voice out of my head, but it’s just so hard after hearing it for so long. I never really thought about it, but aside from the tv, his voice was really the only person I was hearing for months. I hadn’t been out shopping or anything with him in nearly a year.

Michael, Gabe, Brendon, and the one visit from Patrick were really the only people I’d heard or seen in the last three months. Gerard hadn’t even been over which was a little odd, but that was Michael’s business so I never really asked. He was a really nice guy and seemed to have a lot more patience than Michael. He talked more too, which was nice. Maybe I ended up with the wrong brother.

My thoughts are wiped clean at the sound of the door handle twisting. Brendon shouldn’t be on break for another two hours... was he let out early? Do they do that? I don’t think that ever happened when I was working, but maybe this job does that. He was putting in his two weeks notice today, maybe they just let him take the rest of the day off.

That doesn’t make much sense, but I haven’t exactly been on the work force in a while so maybe it’s just not something for me to understand. I hear a knock and my legs jump up with hands gripping the back of my chair. 

He doesn’t knock. Why the fuck would Brendon knock? He has keys and he’s never forgotten them. There’s another knock and I look down to my tensed up stance and try to relax a bit. I look to my notebook and the unfinished sentence and consider ignoring the knocking to continue. This is ridiculous, it’s probably just a neighbor or the landlord here to collect rent. 

_He doesn’t know you’re here. There’s no way he could know._

One of my boredom induced sweeps of the apartment a few days ago had shown me that his little peep hole on the door doesn’t work as all it shows is darkness. So I’ll just have to risk an actual look. Of course I could just not answer, but Brendon was right. I need to push through these fears and just because he’s not here doesn’t mean I can’t do this. 

I need to prove to him that I don’t need a shrink or some padded room, I could live on my own if I needed to. I’d rather stay here, but maybe this will help him realize I’m fine. If I can open this door and confront the stranger on the other side then I can surely continue my life without having to answer any nosey ass doctor. 

I drag my feet to the door and slowly unlock it. My eyes concentrate on turning the knob, but my hands continue to disobey me and move at a snail’s pace. The door barely opens up a crack and before I can look up from the floor I’m shoulder checked by the edge of the door. 

I stumble back, but catch myself on the wall and hanging coats as I look up with panicked eyes moving too fast to truly process anything. 

“I fucking knew it!” I hear _him_ say.  
“N-no.” I look up to see his eyes peering down at me.  
“Why the fuck are you still here?”

All of the noise is already beginning to get to me as the familiar buzz rushes through my head. This can’t be possible. This is just another nightmare, I’m going to wake up any minute. I _have_ to.

“Peter, answer me. You know you’re not supposed to go anywhere without me, now why are you here?”  
“I-I just,”  
“You’re fucking him aren’t you?”

I don’t reply because I know I’ll be wrong either way and I can’t exactly form an answer right now. I’m still trying to process how the hell he got in here.

“You fucking slut! I knew it! You can’t control yourself around any of my friends, but this is too fucking far, Peter.”  
“No I-“  
“You just leave like that? Are you kidding me? You could have at least said something, I mean what the fuck?”  
“W-well I didn’t really plan-“  
“Didn’t plan? You’re damn right you didn’t, how do you expect to live without me? I’m sure you’ve been thinking about me this entire time.”

“Well... yeah I have I guess.”  
“Exactly, come on we’re going home.”  
“Wait, no I-“  
“ _Now_. Peter.”

I feel his hand grip my bicep and fuck I really don’t miss that feeling. He pulls me into the hallway, but I yank myself away. I meet his scowl as it wavers with confusion over my small retaliation.

“No!” I shout up to him and freeze once again under his gaze.  
“Peter, stop this. You know what pulling this shit does.”  
“I... no. I’m not going back there.”  
“And why not?” Michael crosses his arms and I’m honestly drawing a complete blank because I’ve never made it this far in an argument with him.

Usually I’m on the ground by now or dodging a bottle. He’s never actually stopped and just talked. Despite his tone still chilling me to the core, I do feel a small sense of pride with this gesture. 

“W-well you... I don’t like what you do.”  
“You don’t like what I do? I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, but we’re going home. Come on.”  
“No! I’m not fucking going!”  
“Watch your mouth, Peter! Now, get over here. I’m being serious.” Michael points beside him with a harsh whisper, but my feet still stay frozen.

Michael takes a step towards me and I try to bolt to the staircase, but he grabs my shirt and pulls me back slightly. I throw a few stray punches as he awkwardly tries to wrestle my arms down. I kick out when he gets hold of my arms and begins dragging me back. I make one last ditch effort with a kick to his knee joined with the swing of my head into his nose. 

He lets out a muffled shout and I’m finally able to break free as I run once again towards the stairway. I hear him behind me as I swing around the corner to the stairs. I trip up on the second step and skip almost four of them as I fall to the painful edges of concrete. The socks on my feet don’t offer much traction on the sleek stairway, but my head stops me as it hits the wall at the bend and I lazily look up to the approaching shadow. 

I make an attempt to get up, but something grips my hair and whips my head to the side and I take another hit to the floor. I feel myself get pulled to my feet, but all I can really see are blurred lines of the stairs and my feet staggering forward beneath me. 

A wave of vertigo washes over me as I’m pushed forward with an arm wrapped around my back and another gripping my collar. My head rolls and I can feel something drip onto my lip as copper overpowers my pallet. 

My feet practically drag down each step before the cold rush of tile hits my feet. One of my hands holds my head in place as the other weakly pulls at Michael’s sleeve. He keeps a tight hold of me despite my stiff shakes and attempt at biting his chin. I try to tell him to let go of me and to fuck off, but all my mouth manages is a quiet rambling of pure none sense. My tongue feels almost displaced in my mouth as I try again with the same result.

There’s a sudden burst of light and I wince before I hear a car door open. My eyes close briefly and suddenly I’m pressed into a cushion with the cold metal of a seatbelt resting against my forehead. Something tugs at my wrists, but I’m too tired to fight it anymore. Pain radiates through my temples and maybe if I close my eyes enough I can sleep it off.

————————————***—————————————

My head bounces forward and my eyelids flutter open. I can see someone walking back and forth in another room in front of me. I attempt to focus my vision with my eyebrows taut. I’m finally able to make out who it is and my body instinctively jerks away, but I’m stopped by something pulling at my wrist. 

My legs are able to move around, but I’m stuck sitting on the familiar carpet with my arms awkwardly raised to the bed post. An outlet cord is tied around my wrists to secure me in place and my breathing immediately begins to pick up.

“This is bad, Peter. This is really bad.” I snap my head forward to see Michael running a hand through his hair anxiously. “Oh, god, what did you do?”  
“W-What?” I clear my throat and look up to his feet crossing from the white tile of our bathroom to the carpet of the bedroom and back. 

He seems abnormally stressed, which is saying a lot for him. Did I do this to him? This kind of back and forth walking is terrifying to watch as he looks into the mirror and back to the wall. His body never really stops moving as he walks, stops, and touches his face or hair in some way.

“You know what you did.” He suddenly stops as his voice drops with his head to the sink.  
“I-I’m sorry. I really am this t-time.”  
“This time? You’ve never been sorry a day in your life.” Michael sighs with the exhaustion only a sleep deprived parent of a newborn baby could contend with. “If you had, you wouldn’t have left me.”

“I... I’m sorry, Michael-“  
“What the fuck did you just say?” His head swivels and my heart stops.  
“That I’m sorry?” I really hope that’s the right answer.  
“No, what did you _call_ me?” 

I realize my mistake as he steps closer to me and yanks at my bangs to look up at him.  
“I meant Sir! I’m sorry, Br-Brendon’s just been making me-“  
“Making you do what? Call _him_ Sir? Yeah, I’m sure. What, you got used to calling him that, so now you forgot about me?”  
“No! He,”  
“Don’t fucking start.”

A quick sting crosses my cheek and eye as his hand strikes my face. My hairline aches as his fingers continue to intertwine with my hair that’s already lost a few strands in the pulling. I wince and feel more heat radiate from my eyes as tears begin to fall.

“God, you’re so fucking dramatic.” He throws my head back and finally lets go of my hair in the process. He crouches down to look at my heated face with wild bangs hanging stiffly over one eye. “And by the way, you won’t be seeing your little side piece anymore. I left a nice note for him to soak up when he gets home and realizes you abandoned him, just like you did to me.” 

I meet his cold stare at that and just keep breathing heavily as my mind blanks out on any possible defense.

“You really fucked up here, Petey.” He gets up and studies himself in the bathroom mirror. “And look what you did, people are going to ask questions about this bruise.” He lightly taps his noise with a sniff.

Ask _him_ questions? What about the literal scars strewn across my back? Or the ones permanently warping my tattoos? Or maybe the ones scattered across my legs and feet? How about the building bruise on my forehead or the dried blood staining my nostrils? I can’t even count the number of bruises or scrapes I’ve collected over the years from him that have all healed as if they never happened.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Is all I’m able to mutter through these thoughts.  
“Hmm?” His head tilts slightly to me, but his eyes stay trained on his reflection.  
“I said, yeah, I’m sorry.”  
“Doesn’t matter, you’re home now. Here’s how it’s going to be, now you remember the rules right? I know you blatantly ignored the most important one, but it hasn’t been that long since you’ve been here.”

I lightly nod and begin to study the carpet with a tired sigh.  
“Alright, good, so you won’t be up and cleaning while I’m gone anymore. You’re going to stay there until I can get a lock for the closet. It’s the only room without any windows and since you seem so inclined to running off, you won’t be getting any.”

Why did I have to leave? Now I get to do literally nothing while he’s gone. I can’t clean, I can’t watch tv, I can’t look outside for the neighbor’s cat, I can’t do _anything_ aside from religiously organizing the closet. If I’d just stayed like I was supposed to and been a good boyfriend then I wouldn’t be in this situation, but all I can do is imagine that scenario at this point.

“Also, anytime you need to shower or use the bathroom will be monitored by me. Any food or drinks are on my terms and clothing is given by me.” Sir crouches back down to me again. “You want to treat this place like it’s a prison you need to break out of, then I’ll treat it like one too.”

I look down to his chin and my eyes drag lower to his shirt as the thought of my future flashes before me. I’m really not looking forward to any of this and god I really hope it’s not permanent. He’s got to lighten up at some point right?

“I’m doing this to help you.” I flinch away as his hand traces my cheek. “I know you don’t see it that way.”  
“What does that even mean?” My eyes flick up to his before going back to the far wall.  
“You _need_ this.”

I never considered Sir being mentally unstable until now. Even through the yelling and random mood swings I’d grown accustomed to, I always thought he was just being himself. That all of this was just his complicated personality that I was tasked with untangling. 

“Oh... c-can I ask why?”  
“Sure, I guess. You were a very toxic person when we first met and it became my job to help you. I’ve gotten you through a lot haven’t I?”  
“Well, yeah.”  
“And I’ve healed you for the most part, or at least, I _thought_ I had. I _thought_ you’d made a lot of progress until you threw it all away.”  
“I didn’t mean to.”

“Stop. I’m tired of being mad and you saying that is just... infuriating. That’s why there’s rules, they help you. They give you a sense of routine and now that routine is destroyed. I don’t want to give up on you, but you’ve been making it so hard lately.”  
“I’m sorry, it’s just what Brendon was saying... I thought it made sense, but I guess I just wasn’t thinking.”  
“That’s alright, that’s on him. I don’t like it when you blame people, but he does seem very manipulative. He’s dangerous, Pete. You understand that right?”  
“Yes, Sir.”  
“Good.”

He smiles for the first time in weeks and a wave of relief washes over me briefly before the memory of Brendon comes back. I’ll probably never see him again... he can’t be as bad as Sir says. I don’t want to believe it, but what else is there to claim? Sir just wanted to help me in his own way, I just didn’t know. Brendon and all of his questions are to blame. If he hadn’t pushed his way into our lives and forced me to talk about it then none of this would have happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little late again, it’s been a little crazy around here with all this running around, but I was able to find time to finish this up. Hope you’re all still enjoying it!


	15. Every Word Gets You A Step Closer To Hell

Brendon

“Hey, Pete, it’s me.” I announce with a swing of the door. “I am officially out of that shit hole... well two more weeks, but,” I stop as I look up to an empty table.

He’s normally sitting there bent over his puzzle right before he asks how my day was. It was like his ritual, he always did that. I look to the couch, but that’s empty too. I even look over the edge in case he’s laying down or possibly on the floor. I mean, it is Pete, it’s not abnormal for him. I come across him sitting on the floor quite a bit actually.

“Pete?” I call out and look to the kitchen before checking the opened bathroom. “Bud, you okay?” 

I even throw open the shower curtain just in case he’s found a new place to break down. Shit, he’s probably in the closet again. I’d like to not have to come home and immediately fall to my knees to hug a crying guy over problems I could never truly relate to. Coming home and seeing Pete laughing over some show or even contently testing out the cords on my guitar would be much better. I want him here, there’s no doubt about that, but I really just want to see him go through a day without shedding any tears.

I enter the dark bedroom and flip the light on as I notice the empty bed. I glance over the edge of it to see if he’s possibly sitting behind it, but again nothing. The closet door is closed, but I don’t hear anything. Normally I can at least hear a little shuffle or sniff, but maybe he fell asleep. That would be a new one, but he does seem to surprise me everyday. 

“Hey, Pete,” I give a light tap to the door. “It’s me, Brendon.” After a few seconds of pure silence I risk a look. 

I open the door slowly to hopefully help him realize who it is and not make him jump. My eyes trail up from the carpet to the hanging shirts and coats before squinting in utter confusion. 

What the fuck? If he’s not here, then where the hell could he be? I pull back the curtain of clothing to see if he found a way to get behind them, but I’m still met with a blank wall. I double check, swinging the hoodies and shirts left and right, but he’s still not here.

I get up and my legs pick up the pace a little more. “Pete? Seriously, dude, where are you?” I ask a bit louder than before.

I get down to look under the bed like I’m searching for some missing cat or a kid playing a surprise game of hide and seek. A lost charger and a few discarded socks catch my eye, but of course he’s not there. I get up and look back into the kitchen just in case he was behind the counter and I missed him, but still nothing. I look through each room again and somehow I still can’t find him. 

I go to look behind the table as if he could somehow hide behind it, but a scrap of paper catches my eye instead. It’s the same paper from the notebook I gave him. It even has the little winged sheep logo in the corner. My eyes focus as they trail over the scrawled writing as if I’ve just discovered some ancient artifact.

“ _Brendon, I just couldn’t stay here anymore. It all just became too much, I can’t love you anymore. -Peter_ ”

What the hell? What does any of that even mean? I know Pete enough to know how he would write and this is not it. I mean the handwriting alone... _does_ Pete write like this? I mean I know his handwriting was messy, but was it this bad? This just looks so rushed and short. 

I didn’t get to really read anything he wrote as he’s only picked up this notebook a handful of times, but I caught a peak at one point and I’m pretty sure it didn’t look like this. The Pete I know also writes goddamn paragraphs and a goodbye note seems like a pretty big deal. He wouldn’t just throw a few sentences together, he would take his time and write at least a page on why he was leaving.

With as emotional as he’s been lately, I’d also be expecting some tears, but this page is completely dry. Hell, I’m about to be the one to cry on it because what the fuck? He wouldn’t just get up and leave, especially when nothing terrible had really happened. 

We got into that one sort-of fight, but we were fine now. We traded our apologies, him more than me, and had completely made up. Wait a second, he didn’t even give an apology in this note. Pete fucking apologizes over tapping a spoon on a bowl when eating, why would he not throw one into this letter? It’s like his social crutch that he’s programmed into his brain to blurt out anytime something happens. It’s a habit that I never expected him to fully overcome, so why would he not have it in something this big? 

He also said he can’t love me anymore... he’s never once said that. He’s told me multiple times that he really appreciates me letting him stay here and over a dozen thank you’s over small things everyday, but never “I love you”. I’ve come closer to telling him that than he has. I just know I can’t do that to him so soon. I don’t know when was the last time Mikey told him that, but I’m guessing he wouldn’t want to hear it from me right now. 

I reread the note three more times before suddenly stopping. He signed this as... _Peter_. He hates being called that, he practically has a panic attack anytime I call him that. It’s the entire reason we can’t watch Family Guy or Spider-Man. I mean, hearing it on tv is certainly not as bad as in person, but I could still tell he was uncomfortable anytime it was said. Out of everything off about this note, that is the biggest telltale sign that this is bullshit. The others might be able to be picked apart and defended as Pete being in a rush or just not wanting to write a lot, but _this_. This is inexcusable. 

He wouldn’t sign that name, there’s no fucking way he wrote this.

“911, what’s your emergency?”  
“Hi, yeah, I’m pretty sure my friend’s been kidnapped.” I say and stop when I realize how foreign that sentence felt.  
“Alright and what is your name, sir?”  
“Uh, Brendon Urie.”  
“What is your friend’s name as well?”  
“Peter Wentz and... and I think I know who took him too.”  
“Oh?”  
“Michael... Way. I’m pretty sure that’s his last name.”

“Alright and how long has Mr. Wentz been missing?”  
“Um... well I’m not sure. A few hours? Wait, shit, do I have to like, wait a few days or something?”  
“No, sir, what you’re going to want to do is contact your local law enforcement’s non-emergency line and file a missing persons report if you’d like to do it yourself.”  
“Oh... okay, well thanks?”  
“You’re welcome, sir, and I hope you find your friend.”

I thank the lady again and hang up before mentally slapping myself for not asking her what number I should call. Like I know the fucking non-emergency number of the police station. Actually, I probably should, but that’s a lecture for another time. I do a quick search of my area’s law enforcement and even tap in the zip code before finding it.

I fill the report out and give a lengthy description of Pete’s appearance despite it being relatively simple. I try to tell them about Mikey, but they ignore it like that parts not important. Like hell its not, that’s like the most crucial part to this. 

“I’m sorry sir, but without any evidence stacked up against him, we cannot file an issue for his arrest.”  
“Fuck that! I’m making it so _easy_ for you!”  
“Sir, please, ca-“  
“I could give you the fucking address myself, all you have to do is go over there and-“  
“We can’t do that without a warrant and-“  
“Out of everyone around here, this guy has got to be the most warrant-worthy one out there.”

“I understand your frustration,”  
“No, I really don’t think you do. Pete has fucking scars all over his arms and back and... the mental fuckery that Mikey put on him. This guy is a fucking manipulative little bastard and deserves to be locked up.”  
“Well, do you have any photos of the victim’s injuries caused by him?”  
“Well... no because that would be pretty fucked up if I took pictures of them. It’s not like he shows them off.”  
“Well a video of the abuse would be even better. We need evidence of this and I’m not trying to accuse you of lying, but to do anything we need to see it ourselves or more importantly, a judge needs to see it.”

“He left a box of old pictures, I’ll look through those and see if there’s one...”  
“Good, now we’re actually going to need a photo ourselves for the report. Just any clear and recent picture of the victim will do.”  
“Alright, yeah I’m sure I’ve got one in here. Can you at least... like you don’t have to go in, but can you at least knock on his door. Do that whole... cop thing?”  
“I can send over a cruiser to check and have them keep an eye on that place for a little while until we figure out more.”

“Alright, that’s kind of a relief, thanks.”  
“Of course and your either going to want to email that picture or bring it here personally.”  
“I’ll just email it, I really don’t want to drive right now.”

I don’t tell him that I don’t want to drive because I’m not sure if I possess the type of self control not to make a sudden detour and end up parked in front of Mikey’s building. These fucking cops better find something and not just look away after seeing one grin stretched across Mikey’s face. I swear to god if he pulls some of his innocence routine I will personally go over there and drop kick that fucking door open... because I definitely know how to do that. Yeah sure.

I write down the email and drop my phone to go search for a good picture. I hope they’re not all just family photos and ancient memories. I pull the little shoe box onto my lap as I sit on the couch and begin sifting through them. 

They’re in no particular order, he’s certainly not going to make this easy for me. I find one of what I’m guessing to be him by the shape of the kids face smiling with some baby. I forgot his hair is actually really curly, he does a good job at hiding that. I make a pile on the couch of pictures that are too old to be used, which is building rather quickly. 

The only relatively recent one is where his head is completely buzzed and he’s posed with some guy with long hair and glasses. He’s wearing a tank top and doesn’t even have any of his tattoos yet. This one really wouldn’t help with it basically looking like some warped version of him. Clean arms, pierced ears, and a shaved head? That’s not even the same fucking person.

I keep searching through the dwindling pile of memories and finally come across a good one, granted he’s with Mikey in it, but maybe that can also help the cops. They’re at some dingy bar with Mikey’s arm wrapped around Pete who might be looking about three drinks in, but it’s the most recent one I’ve found. His hair is almost as long as it is now and he’s even showing his arms which might help a little with further identifying him.

This must have been early in the relationship by the looks of them. Mikey’s hair was still pushed back, but it wasn’t dyed blonde and he’s even wearing glasses which I didn’t know he needed. Pete is practically clinging to him with that goofy grin of his.

My eyes linger a bit on Pete, willing to have been the one to take him to that bar instead of that future asshole. It would have saved him so much pain. I briefly shake the thoughts from my head and grab my phone to take a picture to send. 

I wonder what he would be like now if he’d never met Mikey. I suppose in some twisted way I should be a little thankful that he did because if he hadn’t then we would never meet. All the shit he’s been through isn’t worth meeting me though. He deserves way more than this. 

I send the photo off and my leg bounces impatiently as if the cops could somehow work their magic in a matter of seconds and get back to me to announce Mikey’s incarceration. That Pete is back at the station waiting for me to come pick him up. That I’ll get there and he’ll jump to his feet and run in for a tight hug and I can help turn his life around again. 

But my phone just sits there on the table, unmoving. No buzz, no new notifications, or even a call. It just sits there mocking me. It’s almost like it knows I’m desperately waiting for something and continues to keep a blank screen. 

How the hell do they expect me to just sit here knowing where he’s at? What am I supposed to do, just watch some tv or cook some goddamn soup while my mind continues the nonstop track of Pete’s screams raging through my mind? The shit that could be happening to him right now is worse than any other horror movie I’ve seen. No childhood nightmare could compare to that hell hole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was done yesterday, I just didn’t have a title and then completely forgot, but it’s here now. And hey, I almost posted this on Pete’s birthday (tomorrow). Anyway, glad you’ve made it this far, feel free to leave a comment and I’ll hopefully answer if I remember to check and I really love those kudos so thanks!


	16. The Home Wrecker With The Heart Of Gold

Pete

This wasn’t all that bad. I mean, I can’t feel my arms anymore and it’s really starting to hurt, but as long as I keep distracting myself I’ll be fine. I’ve already gone through Aerosmith’s song “I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing”, The Foundation’s “Build Me Up Buttercup”, and Ace of Base with “The Sign”. Well, I didn’t do any of them much justice as I only remembered about five lines from each, but I repeated those five lines as if they were the whole song. That right there seems like a skill in itself.

“An invisible man... sleeping in yo bed. Who you gonna call? _Ghostbusters_ ” I mutter with the fake enthusiasm captured in the actual chant.

I get a few more “who you gonna call”s out before giving up on that song too. As I run over my memory’s record collection for the next greatest hit on my Tied To A Bed And Dying Of Boredom playlist, I hear the echo of a closing door and pause.

I lift my head and lazily blink at the bedroom door, but it doesn’t look like it’s opening anytime soon. Sir must be just getting home, he usually doesn’t come in here for a little while. I let out a heavy sigh and allow my eyes to return to their regularly scheduled program of studying the curly strands of carpet.

“Thundercats, _ho_.” I whisper-yell as the memories of summer mornings spent with my eyes glued to the tv watching this song play out in front of me dances across my mind. “Thundercats are on the move, Thundercats are loose... feel the magic, hear the roar. Thundercats are loose.”

I stop when I hear another distant thud, but it goes silent again and I continue my tired muttering.

“Thunder, thunder, thunder, Thunderca-FUCK.” I jump as the door opens abruptly.

“I was never a big fan of that show.” Sir says rather calmly. “The cat thing right?”  
“Uh... yeah, Thundercats. I liked them when I was little.”  
“I know, you’ve told me before.”

Sir begins to unbutton his shirt and walks briskly to the closet without looking down at me. 

“I’m just surprised you still remember it.”  
“Well, when-“ I stop to adjust my aching shoulders and attempt to roll them a bit. “When you hear the song for almost a decade straight it sort of gets ingrained into your brain.”  
“That makes sense... you’re definitely no singer though.”  
“Yeah, sorry, I just got kind of bored.”

All this back and forth chatting is kind of weird considering the circumstances. I mean we’re talking like some normal couple greeting each other after a long day. Not at all how I would’ve expected to talk to him whilst being tied to a bed post and sitting uncomfortably on the floor against my will.

“Well, yeah, that’s part of the punishment. It’s not supposed to be fun.”  
“But could I at least , you know, be on the bed or something. The floor’s just-“  
“Oh you wanna be on the bed now?”

I might not be able to see him, but I can practically feel his eyes drop to me and eyebrow raise. I suddenly do _not_ want to be on that bed.

“You know, I’m good. The floor isn’t that bad.”  
“No, no, you wanna be on the bed. I can get you on the bed.”  
“Sir, please.” I try to turn my head to look at him as the sound of his feet approach.  
“Just let me get out of my work clothes and-“  
“Seriously, I really don’t want,”  
“Then don’t complain.” His voice drops and any lightness to it is wiped clean.

Sir comes over to look at me briefly and strokes a piece of my hair before disappearing behind the bed again. I continue my pleading, but he doesn’t answer to any of it. My fingers keep on buzzing and I try to move them, but all I can get is a weak twitch of my pinky. I need to be able to do something and right now all I’ve got are a pair of dead arms and useless legs that have been in a deep sleep since yesterday. 

“I... I can’t even walk. If I move I might twist my ankle or something.”  
“Well it’s a good thing you won’t have to walk.”  
“Please,” I look up to him as he takes a step beside me and I feel the deep pressure of tears building up. “Sir, please don’t.”

My arms suddenly drop as he pulls the rest of the cord away. I can’t even move them, but a small part of me is still relieved to have them back.

“You need to move them, get the blood flowing.”  
“What?”  
“ _Try to move them_.” He repeats more sternly.  
“Oh, yeah okay.”

I’m just a little shocked he seems actually concerned over this. I understand the why part of trying to move my arms, but I don’t see why he would care. I’m still bouncing between who I should trust here. On one bloodless hand I’ve got Brendon who convinced me Sir was an asshole, but on the other I’ve got Sir who actually seems to care about me right now.

“I don’t want you to loose the circulation in your arms. That would just be pointless and I’d rather not have to amputate them.”

The thought of him coming at me with a buzz saw is enough to motivate me to start moving my arms. My shoulders shake and my fingertips flinch slightly, but there’s still not much for my arms or hands to do. 

“Can you move them?”  
“Um... not really.” I attempt to lift an arm, but all I get is a slight bend in my elbow.  
“Alright, well tell me when you can, I’m gonna go get the shower ready. You need one.”

I suddenly want to add shower to my growing list of things I really don’t want to do at this moment. Maybe he wasn’t being serious with “bed” implying something much worse, but showers were never good. Especially not now with everything that’s happened. I’d rather not think of last night. There were too many shadows, too many noises. My knees were bruised and my lips swollen and I just couldn’t do it. I’m pretty sure I blacked out or something, I can’t really remember it entirely. That and I’m not quite sure what was real or just a nightmare. He didn’t even untie me, just got me to sit up and goddamnit were my wrists sore. 

I’m a bit surprised that nothing more happened actually. I figured fucking would be the first thing on his mind with me being gone for so long. I think he’s holding it in though and I do not want to be around when he finally explodes.

Alright, I’m untied, if there were ever a moment to get out of here, now would be the time. His back is to me and should stay that way for a few minutes, so if I could just stand up, then maybe I can get away. 

My hips twist and thighs make it up about five inches, but it’s all just dead weight from there. My left arm wakes up a bit and I claw at the floor with awkward fingers disobeying my command. 

All I can manage is to sit on my side and lean on one hand before my arm shakes and gives out. My eyes flick up to the bathroom when I hear the water turn on. Pins start to spread down my arms and I can at least shake my left bicep a little, but it’s still not enough to get me up.

“Alright-“ I hear Sir start, but I’m a little preoccupied with eating the carpet to turn my head. “Woah, woah, shit you’re that limp?”

I feel his arm snake around my back and sit me back up. I look up to him and he actually does look concerned, but then his mouth returns to that unemotional slit quicker than it appeared. 

I wince as my legs begin to wake up and spread a deep ache from my toes to my groin. Sir sits down across from me to my surprise and runs his thumb over my bruised ankle. I’m not sure if having my limbs asleep for so long is causing most of my pain or if it’s the beating I took from falling down that flight of stairs.

“So, what did you do while you were there?” He asks without looking up from my foot.  
“Nothing really, he made a rule that I wasn’t supposed to clean or cook.”  
“Did you like it? Being there with him instead?”

I’m smart enough to know he’ll hate it if I say I liked Brendon more than him. I might as well start measuring myself for a coffin if I said that, so I take more of a middle route.

“It was boring, all I was allowed to do was play with a puzzle and write.”  
“Oh, that reminds me,” He stands up abruptly and disappears behind the bed again. I can hear him rummaging through the closet before he makes his way back.

Sir sits back down with a small book in his hand... fuck.  
“Remember this?” He waves the notebook in one hand before opening it.  
“How did you-“  
“After getting you in the car, I went back up to close the door and grab your things. I didn’t really find anything you brought aside from a few shirts, but that honestly wasn’t my main focus after finding _this_.”

I try to sit up a bit as he looks to the first page and begins reading.  
“Brendon is kind of strange, his rules aren’t like _Michael’s_.”

He looks back up to me after just the first sentence with a furrowed brow.  
“I noticed you scratched out Sir before writing my name, we’ll get back to that later. Anyway, this place isn’t as big, but for the first time I actually feel safe. I would have thought Michael would come for me by now. I’m stuck between missing him desperately and wanting to jump out of my skin every time I think I see him outside.”

He stops there and I really hope he didn’t read all of it earlier. I didn’t get to write a lot, but with what I did get down, it doesn’t exactly put him in the best light. He clears his throat before looking up to me again and I blink away.

“So... think you could maybe explain this?”  
“W-well I...” My voice abandons me as I try to form some type of answer that isn’t just a straight insult.  
“Alright, well how about this one,” He flips the page and runs his eyes down the messy ink. “His hands wrapped around my wrists and practically stitched them to the mattress. His body pressed against my chest, the thorns inked to my neck dug into my throat. I couldn’t breath. I couldn’t move. He was all I could see, all I could hear, and all I could feel. These nightmares are feeling all too real and I just can’t stop thinking about him.”

He bites his bottom lip with the focus of an archer before peering over the book to me. My jaw clenches and my mouth goes dry under his gaze.

“Who’s this about?”  
“You.” I breath after a few seconds of deep silence.  
“Why did you do this? There’s like five other fucking pages making me look like some creep. Do _you_ think I’m some pervert?”  
“No.” I quickly reply and watch his hands as one clenches slightly.

“Then why do you have nightmares about this?”  
“I don’t know, I can’t really control it. I hate them as much as you do.”  
“Why did you write this shit then? Do you know how fucked up it is to find this?”  
“I’m sorry, Brendon just told me to write in it anytime I was freaked out or-“  
“I’m tired of hearing that bitch’s name. It’s bad enough he took you there, you don’t need to say his name every other sentence.”  
“I’m sorry.”

He gets up again and grabs my arm.  
“Come on, you should be fine now.” I deeply regret ever writing in that god forsaken book. He was fine before I brought up writing and actually seemed to be making genuine conversation, but now that was all gone. I can tell just by his tone that he’s pissed off again.

I use the bed to help balance my jello-like legs as he tightens his hand under my arm. It’s all a bit awkward, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he unsteadily pulls me to the bathroom.

I stumble over, gaining more strength with each step. I lean on the vanity as he checks the water.

“Alright, it’s good.” He looks back down to me expectantly and my fingers tighten on the counter top’s edge. “Well, are you going to strip or not?”  
“Umm... well-“  
“Oh for god’s sake.”

He pulls at my shirt with one hand and lifts my arm with the other.  
“Wait,” I try to let out as he forces it over my head. 

Sir ignores me and gets the shirt completely off as my hands begin to shake. I feel the tension build in my chest as he loops his fingers inside my waist band. I try to stop him and loosely grab one of his arms with an unintentional whimper, but he swats it away and continues down.

“What’s he been feeding you?” Sir asks with a scowl as he looks down at me.  
“Oh... I haven’t really had the chance to work out and-“  
“Get on the scale.”

I step to the scale with arms hugging in on myself to try and protect my chest from the cold air conditioning blowing right on me.

“One-eleven... you’re pushing it. Last time you were here, you were ninety-eight. Now what the hell happened?”  
“He-he kept making me eat, I’m sorry, I just-“  
“You gained _thirteen pounds_ in just one week? Jesus was he shoving it down your throat?”

A chuckle escapes my lips at that question, but I bite my gums to hold it back when he turns to me.

“Seriously? Jesus, Peter, grow up.” He shakes his head and pinches my hip. “This needs to be gone.”

_Mikey_ would have laughed at that. I remember his sense of humor and although he usually rolled his eyes at my juvenile jokes, he always appreciated them. That was what I liked about him the most. He was the anchor I needed to keep me grounded and I was his balloon, high on helium and laughing my ass off at his seriousness. I knew how to coax Mikey out and have a good time, we’ve just kind of lost touch with that dynamic. 

He guides me to the shower and let’s me step inside. I look back to him as the water hits my head and he keeps staring. It’s pretty fucking creepy and if I had even half the attitude I did when we first met, I’d snatch at the curtain and leave him outside. If my heart wasn’t pounding and my legs weren’t shaking, I’d knock him in the eye with soap. If my words weren’t suffocating me, I’d tell him to fuck right off and let me shower.

But I don’t. I turn back to the water and hope he doesn’t step in here with me. I hope he doesn’t keep staring at my frame that has apparently grown soft in his eyes. I look to my stomach and rub the back of my neck anxiously. I can still see my ribs, but the little bit of pudge at my waste must be where the weight is hiding. 

I flinch at the cold hand that suddenly rests on my shoulder. It trails down my back and I freeze. My breath catches in my throat as I look down between the wall and the shower curtain to see his pants discarded on the ground right outside. 

He shushes my rushed breathing in an attempt to calm me as another hand wraps around my waist. I let out a tight sob and he smooths a hand over my throat. His breath traces the shell of my ear and I force my eyes closed. He turns me around slowly and my lip twitches slightly at the thought of him being right in front of me.

“I missed this,” The sound from the water makes his voice sound like a whisper. “Hey, look at me.”  
My eyelids peel themselves open and I look up to the water droplet running down his temple.

He pushes himself closer and presses his lips against mine and before I can really think of what to do I’m pushing him off. He slips and I almost follow him to the floor, but I grab the curtain that luckily holds. There’s a thud followed by various bottles falling off the shelf beside him. He groans and I instinctively drop beside him to check if he’s okay. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”  
“Y-yeah,” He winces and cradles the back of his head. “My head hit the floor a little, but my back took most of the fall.”  
“I’m so sorry, I really didn’t-“  
“Oh fuck off, you p-pushed me you little shit.”

He slowly leans forward on one hand and I help him get up the rest of the way. There’s a small nagging thought in the back of my mind telling me to run. Saying that this is my only chance, but it’s barely a whisper as everything else within me goes to help him out of the tub. 

He throws a towel to me and tells me to sit on the toilet cover while he digs out the first aid kit. Blood begins to trail down his neck and my eyes widen.

“Y-you’re bleeding.”  
“Yeah, I fucking know that, what do you think I’m trying to take care of?” 

I dip my head, he doesn’t really seem to be in the mood to talk right now and with good reason. We’re both still dripping wet and his back is getting pretty red. A shiver runs down my shoulders and spine and I’m really wishing I had more than just the one towel covering my legs.

I distract myself with studying the interior of the bathroom instead of trying to talk to Sir. I notice the trash bin is almost overflowing with me not being here to empty it. The soap is just about finished and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t figured out how to iron his shirts with a few wrinkled ones hanging on the door. 

“Get dry, shut the water off, and clean up the floor. It’s fucking soaked.” He orders while pressing a wet rag to the back of his head.

I get up and dry off before attempting to find some clean clothes. I find a pair of boxer briefs and I’m honestly not sure if they’re mine or not, but I put them on anyway. I didn’t exactly get much of a shower, but at least I got my hair wet.

“Hey!” Sir shouts and my head bolts up to his scowl. “I didn’t tell you to get changed, clean this shit up. I have something for you anyway.”

I watch him leave with his towel around his waste and washcloth to his head before wiping at the puddles. Shit this could be my second chance. I could run right now. I could jump out of the window... but it’s a straight fall to pavement and getting knocked out wouldn’t really help my situation. 

I get to my feet and pull on a pair of gym shorts and grab a shirt as I quickly walk out of the door. I stop at the stairs to see if he’s coming up and slowly make my way down when I’m met with silence. I get half way down before I hear footsteps closing in. I turn and run back up to the bedroom as he turns to see me.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I hear behind me as I round the corner and slam the door. I run to the nearest window and fuck it I’m going for it. I try and force the window open, but I barely get it up an inch before something tightens around my neck.

“I wasn’t even going to fucking do this, but you did this! _You_ did this!” Sir shouts and continues to tug me backwards by the neck.

I stumble and pull at the cord on my neck, but it’s just too tight. I can feel my face heat up and my fingers grow painfully sore with being stuck between the cord and my neck. I spit and try to say something, anything at this point before I’m suddenly thrown to the ground. Something strikes my eye and I curl in on myself closer. I hear shuffling and he says something under his breath as my arms shake over my head.

“I don’t know what the fuck you did with him over there, but you’ve fucking changed. I don’t know what the hell your problem is, but I’m fucking done!” He shouts and I look up briefly to see him take something out of a plastic bag.

I put my head back down and sputter out a few breaths before he can see me looking. I flinch and grip my hair tighter when the sound of a drill kicks up. Fuck is he going to pull a Dahmer on me?

A few minutes later and the drill finally hits the floor. I risk a look to see him turning back to me and breathing rather heavily.

“Get the fuck up.” He orders and snatches my arm up to get me to my feet. I look to the closet door and see the shiny new latch on the outside of it before he shoves me forward.  
“Take the clothes out.”  
“Sir, I-“  
“Get the fucking clothes out, now. And take that shit off, I already told you I never said get dressed. I’m not going to say it again!” He practically shoots daggers at me with his gaze and I go forward with the orders with no further words to let out. 

I get the last shirt on the bed and he pushes me forward before slamming the door and forcefully locking it with a snap. I start to say something, but he slams his fist against the door to cut me off.

“You did this.” He says before silence takes over and the darkness around me really starts to set in. I’m really not a fan of closed in spaces or even the dark and now I get to have the best of both worlds. Lucky me.

I really need some clothes. I need _Brendon_. He would know what to do. He always seemed so calm and carefree. Hell, he’d probably be fine with giving me his clothes and walking around naked. He had a nice body and didn’t mind walking around in a towel whenever he forgot his pants after a shower. I wish I could be like that. Hell I _was_ like that. 

I was just like him and now I don’t even know who the fuck is staring back at me in the mirror. I’m not Pete anymore. I’m _Peter_ and I fucking hate Peter. I hate him with every fiber of my being and the saddest part is that I can’t escape him. Just like Mikey became Michael, a grotesque fun house mirror reflection of his former self. It seems like we’ve both gone down hill since meeting each other. We would have just been better off if I’d never looked at him that night. If I’d never even gone to that shady ass bar. I should’ve turned away, hell I was supposed to be fucking straightedge at the time and I still went out after that gig anyway. 

Why did I have to be Peter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late again, but this chapter’s ending had to be rewritten a few times so I promise I wasn’t just sitting on this and not posting. Also, I’ve got another fic out called **Someone Old, No One New**. I’ll be updating that one on Sundays and it will be much more reliable since it’s already written and edited. So, if you want you can go check it out, if not and you just wanna stick with this one, that’s fine too. See ya next time


	17. If You’re Gonna Be The Death Of Me, That’s How I Want To Go

Brendon

 

Fuck it I’m going over there.   
_No, no you’re not._  
You’re right, I can’t... the cops know what they’re doing.  
 _But do they?_  
Who’s fucking side are you on? 

I stop my internal debate and grab my keys before heading out. It’s not like Mikey can sue me for knocking on his door right? As long as I don’t, you know, lobotomize him with my car keys, I’ll be fine. 

I make my way over there and turn up the radio to possibly quiet down my doubts about reaching those steps. I’m already half way there, I might as well keep going. I’ve cornered five different ways this can go down: the first being that Pete actually isn’t there and I was wrong, though I seriously doubt that. The second would be that he is there and Mikey lies straight to my face, but I leave not knowing. Third is Pete is there and I bust in as soon as I see him. Fourth being that I break in if Mikey doesn’t answer. The last and probably most absurd is that Pete himself answers the door. 

Now the fifth would be pretty good, I mean it’s basically a direct hit if this were some crude game of Battleship. That would also mean that Pete has had every chance to leave and still stayed and this also brings the possibility of the note actually being real. This would mean he just... left. That he really didn’t want to be with me anymore. Not that we were dating or anything. No, it was just me helping a guy out who obviously needed someone to finally just stop and really look at him to tell.

This also leads to the conclusion that he loved me... but he never said that. I mean, yeah, there was the whole kissing thing, but he was just confused. Mikey basically ground his social skills down until they were nothing but: compliments equal kissing and work equals fuck.

I’m still fighting with whether outcome number five is good or not when I roll past Mikey’s apartment. There aren’t any parking spaces close by, but I’m able to squeeze in about six car links back. 

I take a deep breath as I close my door and begin the trek back to their building. It feels like miles with each step dragging against the fallen leaves and stray pebbles. It’s really not that far, hell I can clearly make out the numbers lining their stoop without my glasses, but it feels like hours before I reach it.

I take each step one at a time with my head hung low to ensure I don’t trip. I feel the tickle of a shake in my legs as my nerves start to build up before I knock on the door. I wait a few seconds and goddamnit I need an answer right now before my feet turn and run without my say. I go to knock again, but the door moves just out of reach as someone opens it.

“Oh, Brendon.” Mikey wipes the scowl he had as he opened the door clean from his face and gives me a smirk. “What’s up?”  
“Um...” Fuck I wasn’t expecting such a normal opening or to even really talk. “I was just in the neighborhood and I felt bad for not being able to grab lunch with you these past few days. Wanna maybe go get something? I know it’s late,”  
“You know, now’s not the greatest time. It’s fine though, seriously.”

_Yeah cause you’re probably beating your fucking boyfriend right now._

“Oh, well I mean, can I come in at least. There’s just something I need to talk to you about.”  
“Yeah... I’m sure.” He mutters the last bit and steps aside slightly, forcing me to push myself in between himself and the doorframe.

We sit at the kitchen table and it’s hard to believe I was sitting in this exact seat only a few days ago. Starring at Pete and wondering just how the hell someone could be so perfect yet somehow flawed.

“It’s pretty quiet, without Pete and all.” I say before he can start up the conversation.  
“Yeah, this place seems pretty dead without him.” He looks down at his hands and picks at the table.  
“Have you called anyone? Like the cops?”  
“No, but I’m sure you have.”

He looks back up to me and grinds his jaw slightly, overconfidence bleeding through his gums.

“What?”  
“You know what.”  
“No, I really don’t.” I reassure him, but it does little to convince him as he keeps his death stare directed at me.  
“Cut the shit, Urie. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” His voice raises. “ _You_ took Pete.”

I fake a scoff and keep my eyes on his.  
“I didn’t do shit, he probably left your controlling ass.”  
“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” He stands up and continues the unofficial stare down.  
“You wouldn’t even let him leave the goddamn house.” I jump up in an attempt to match his height, although it’s just a tad bit shorter.

“He chose to stay home!” He swings his arms out to gesture to the room. “And how the _fuck_ would you even know that?”  
“He mentioned it at dinner that night.”  
“The fuck he did. He never said that and the only way you’d know would be through him.”

I hear a distant thump above my head and pause. He freezes with me and I hear it again.

“Who else is here?” I slowly ask with sweat building at my hairline.  
“It’s just the dog.”  
“Why didn’t I hear anything about a dog?”  
“We’ve always kept him upstairs. He’s not good with furniture.”  
“What kind of dog is-wait why the fuck am I even asking?”

I go to move past Mikey and toward the stairs, but he steps in front of me to block my path.

“Where the fuck are you going?”  
“I wanna see the dog, I love dogs.” I reply nonchalantly with a shrug even though I’m straining to keep my voice even.  
“Yeah, well _he_ doesn’t love you.”

I stop and look at his hand on my chest trying to keep me in place. Is he... is this a metaphor for Pete or something? Is he implying that the “dog” is Pete and he doesn’t love me?

“Trust me, I’m sure he will.”  
“It’s my fucking dog and you’re not seeing him. In fact, why don’t you leave.”  
“Let go of my chest and I will.”

His hand lowers and I keep walking. I can feel him walking right behind me as we approach the stairs. I turn my head to a picture briefly to seem uninterested before braking to the staircase. He shouts my name behind me as I skip up them two steps at a time.

He grabs for my pant leg and I trip briefly before kicking him away. I make it to the hallway and call out to Pete. I don’t hear anything, but I run to nearest door and find a disheveled bedroom. There’s clothing piled around at random, a few things are folded in a corner, but everything else seems to be scattered around like an abandoned bird’s nest.

I keep the door closed as Mikey begins to pound on it with the rhythm of a deadbeat hardcore band with bad acoustics. I throw the bedside table down to block the door, but I know that’s not going to be enough. I grasp the edge of a dresser weakly, I can’t completely reach it while keeping a hand on the door handle, but I’ve got to at least try.

“Open the fucking door! Brendon!” I feel the doorknob twist and push all of my weight onto it. 

I jump to the dresser and slam it down in front of the door. It doesn’t cover the entire entrance, but I just need it to keep the door in place enough to ensure that that psycho can’t slither his way in.

“Brendon?” A muffled voice calls out. I can barely make it out, I’m pretty sure it was my name. It’s hard to hear anything over the punches being thrown at the splintering door, but I can just make out the voice like a static infused radio call crackling in the wall.

I hear it again and I’m not sure what was said, but it’s coming from somewhere around the bed. I step over another pile of shirts and Jesus Christ does this guy need a maid. Or at the very least, a closet. I hear another thud and this time it isn’t actually Mikey and his temper tantrum.

Oh shit, there is a closet, I didn’t even notice it before. I immediately rush to open the door, but stop when I see the lock. Luckily it’s not a key kind and I slide the metal bar back before trying again. It seems like Mikey is really starting to loose it outside, but all of the noise fades a bit when I open the closet.

Those same hazel eyes blink up to me before wincing at the sudden light and I see his lips part as he processes the situation like I am. It’s been two days since he disappeared from me and it already looks like he’s taken a major step back in the progress we’d made. At least, that’s what I think until he’s suddenly pushing me back against the bed in one of the tightest hugs I’ve ever received in my life. 

“Oh-oh my god. Brendon?” He pleads more than asks into my chest as his fists twist the back of my shirt.  
“Yeah, buddy, it’s me.” I return the hug and feel his shoulders shudder.

That’s when I notice the only sleeves he has on are made of ink as the scars on his back stretch in the open air. All he has on are a pair of tattered boxers, so I drape my arms over his shoulders to cover him up a little bit more. He flinches up and looks to the door with obvious terror in his eyes at the sound of Mikey’s screaming.

“He-He’s gonna hurt you.” Pete keeps a tight hold of me, but tries to turn me away from where Mikey is still kicking at the door.  
“No, no, it’s going to be alright.” I reassure him, but really I’m having a tough time convincing myself of that.

I grab a shirt for Pete and let him find some pants while I dial 911 yet again. I get through to the operator and tell him what I can as quickly as possible before running to the door to try and close the little crack Mikey has been able to force open. 

I hear Pete yelp as the door pushes past the corner of the dresser and Mikey gets his chest through.

“Peter! G-get away from him!” Mikey spits and I slam my shoulder into the door. My phone falls to the floor, but they know enough to at least send someone over here and goddamnit I’m not taking their bullshit this time. I told them where Pete was at and they obviously didn’t do anything about it.

Mikey yells out in pain and Pete just crouches behind the bed with a shaking head. Fingers lock themselves into my hair as Mikey’s hand flails about. I wince and wrestle with my own hands to try and pry his fist open. Mikey takes this brief reaction to push himself through the door more and trips up on the bedside table. 

I look down to see a flash of him getting up before my back is slammed against the door. I miss my chance to throw a punch and his hands wrap themselves around my throat. I cough up for air and look at his blazing eyes, face distorted by rage.

“Motherfucker,” He spits between gritted teeth and tightens his grip. “He’s fucking _mine_.”

I grab at his shoulders, but kick out when my arms fail me and hit his knee. He winces, but keeps himself locked in place. His grip only loosens slightly and before I can make another attempt at knocking him away he suddenly lets go. He cries out and looks back where Pete is bracing back with a belt behind him.

He falters when Mikey looks back at him, but still lunges forward with it. He strikes him in the arm when he goes to block it from his face. I move back to make sure any stray shots don’t hit me and I’m honestly just a little shocked.

“What the fuck?” Mikey yells when Pete hits his shoulder. On the third strike he turns and yanks the belt down, but Pete keeps his hold of it.

I jump in and put my arm around Mikey’s throat as he pushes Pete back. He claws at my arms, but I’m more focused on Pete staggering back. He falls and grabs at the bedpost to brake his fall and ends up snapping it off. 

Mikey begins twisting under me and I allow myself to focus back to him when Pete slowly begins to get up. Mikey brakes away from me and throws a punch to my jaw. As I reel back and he lets out a cough I hear a rather fleshy thumb.

_“NO.”_ I hear a foreign shout because I’ve never really heard Pete full-on yell before. It’s a little scary and much louder than I anticipated if I’m being honest.

Mikey reels back and Pete hits him again, holding the broken bedpost with both hands. I jump out of the way when he almost catches me with it and watch as his arms raise up and down with each swing. Mikey eventually falls to the ground in a mix of blood of curses.

Mikey’s arms guard his head, but they’re not doing much as he repeatedly drives the post into them. Pete continues yelling the word “no” with each swing and my hands instinctively flinch up to stop him. I mean, Pete might actually kill him if he keeps going. 

Not that I’m opposed to that, I mean with everything he’s been through, but do I really want to see that? Especially like this, his head is about to get bashed in for God’s sake. Plus, I’m not sure if he really realizes what he’s doing right now. 

Tears run down Pete’s cheeks and anger blinds him as his eyebrows grow tighter than I’ve ever seen them. His voice sounds morphed like he’s actually gnashing his teeth with each no he spits out. His knuckles have grown white around the bloody post and I put out a hand timidly to stop him.

He flinches back, but his arms keep moving as he goes for Mikey’s ribs now. He doesn’t even look up to me, just keeps shouting out a garbled mess of adrenaline and pent-up anger. I can only make out bits and pieces as the tears begin to take over and his exasperation lets up a little bit.

_“Too long”_   
_“Not fucking... Peter”_   
_“Pussy ass bitch”_   
_“You”_   
_“Not home.”_

Holy shit I really need to calm him down. I can tell this has been a long time coming, but he’s seriously starting to sound animalistic with all of this. I put my arms around his waste and grab one of his arms in an attempt to slow him down.

He chokes on a sob as his swinging stutters, but tries to keep going. His eyes aren’t even open anymore as he sputters out a few more words and slowly stops his swinging. He throws the post to the ground and lets me bring him in for what probably feels like a hug, but really I just want to get some kind of control over his arms. He’s stronger than he looks apparently, but completely melts in my arms as I tighten them around his shaking frame.

I can feel his sharp shoulder blades and pointed elbows as he turns toward my chest and I shuffle him away from Mikey. I’d like to believe that I’m not able to feel the ridges of his ribs through his hoodie and goddamnit now I want to grab that piece of wood and throw in a few hits myself. How the fuck do you starve anyone, let alone someone you supposedly love? 

I rest my chin on Pete’s head and realize I’ve got tears of my own soaking his head. I look to Mikey’s contorted body, bloody and beaten beyond belief. He lets out a wet breath that I could only compare to that of a gas mask with how clogged it sounded. I turn Pete away from him and take a minute to gather my thoughts after all of that.

“He... he can’t.” Pete chokes out into my shirt.  
“He can’t hurt you.” I finish for him in reassurance.  
“He can’t hurt _you_.” Pete shakes his hands on the back of my shirt to give more emphasis.

Well shit, I didn’t really think this was about protecting me. He didn’t really make a move to go near Mikey until he hit me though. 

I feel his rib cage inhale deeply in an attempt to slow down, but it only makes him choke. Man, I’ve never seen a guy cry like this before. This is the kind that is only saved for late nights under the covers, not in someone’s arms. I’ve never cried like this publicly, but under the circumstances I can see why he’s thrown privacy out of the window. Even with his break downs before, they were more about uncontrollable breathing and shaking. Sure, he cried, but not like this.

“I’m so sorry.” Pete moves his head away to look up at me with stained eyes and burning cheeks so hot I can feel the heat on my chin.  
“This wasn’t your fault, you’re alright. You’re okay now, trust me.”  
“He-He hit you, he choked-“  
“I’m fine, it’s alright.”

“He... only me. He doesn’t do that to anybody else.”  
“I’m _fine_ Pete, now why were you in the closet?” I sniffle slightly and look down to him as he looks off in the opposite direction to the bathroom.  
“Well, I-I pushed him off in the shower and-and then he locked me in the closet for it. That one was on me and-“  
“No, lets just drop that one right there.”  
“What?”

“Well tell me, why did you have to push him off in the shower?”  
“He got in after me and... I didn’t like it.”  
“Then that’s _his_ fault. Hey, look at me,” I lightly turn his head and he finally blinks up. “None of this is on you, now we need to find my phone and if the cops aren’t on their way now, then I’ll fucking call again I don’t care, alright?”

He nods up to me before we brake off and search the floor for my phone. I ignore what might have happened in the shower that Pete “didn’t like” and save it for another time. Sitting around chatting while his abusive ex writhes in pain on the floor doesn’t seem like the best course of action right now. I keep an eye on Mikey, but he doesn’t appear to be in any shape to be making a move anytime soon. 

I spot my phone under his foot and pick it up before I hear a deep knock from downstairs. Pete runs to the window to check before helping me nudge the door open past the fallen table and dresser. We run downstairs as another knock rings out and I graciously open the door to the waiting police officer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know, it’s late, but I was honestly done with this on time. It just needed to be edited and then I lost track of the days so here you go. Hope you still like it, the story’s not done yet. I wouldn’t just leave it here, so don’t worry. Anyway thanks for reading this so far and comments and kudos are always appreciated!


	18. My Smile’s An Open Wound Without You

Pete

 

Brendon explains everything to the cop and lets me sit in the kitchen. My knee bounces with my racing heartbeat that I’ve been willing to slow down this entire time. I haven’t been able to stop shaking since I dropped the post. 

I can’t believe I did it. I actually _hit_ him. I hit Sir-or Mikey. I fucking hit Mikey... I’m going to jail. This guy’s about to arrest me. Holy shit what if I killed him? He looked terrible after I was done and didn’t seem like he was breathing all that well. 

I look around and I can still hear Brendon talking in the living room when the front door abruptly opens. My eyebrows crease when I see the paramedics push a stretcher through. The cop directs them upstairs and they disappear in an awkward shuffle. 

I really don’t like the next few minutes as more people crowd the apartment with police officers coming in and out. Neighbors warily looking in from the street to gawk at the horrific parade of my life tearing itself apart before them. I lower my head and rest my hands in my hair to avoid any further reminders that I might have just beat a man to death. 

It isn’t long before I hear them make their way over to me. Chairs slide and I flinch under the hand on my shoulder before looking up to see Brendon hovering me. Two officers sit across the table, but I keep my eyes on Brendon’s shirt.

“These guys just want to ask you some questions. I’ve told them a lot, but they still need to hear it from you, alright?”  
I nod in return and glance back to the two men awaiting my cooperation.

Brendon goes to move away, but I keep a firm grip on his shirt to get him to stay.  
“Just let me grab a seat and I’ll be right back.”  
I let him step away briefly to move a chair closer to me as the cop across from us clears his throat.

“So, Mr. Wentz, right?”  
“Y-yeah.” I move my hair out of my eyes and grab for Brendon’s leg as soon as he sits down, to which he gratefully takes my hand.  
“Alright, so could you please tell us everything that’s happened leading to Mr. Way’s injuries?”  
“Everything?” I ask and begin retracing my memory of the last few days.  
“Yes, the events leading to the 911 call.”

“I don’t... I-“ Fuck saying it all out loud is a whole other challenge in itself. I mean, I can’t tell them _everything_. I haven’t even told Brendon everything. And if Sir ever comes back he’ll be so pissed off that I told someone, especially the police.

The officer looks to me softly and I direct my gaze back to the table. They’re going to arrest me, they’re just prolonging this charade for as long as they can in some sick joke. They’re fucking huge too, tall like Sir. What if they’re friend’s of his? 

Brendon nudges me lightly and I shudder to brake off of my thoughts.  
“Pete, it’s okay, you need to tell them so this won’t happen again.”  
I nod and suck in a quick breath before continuing.

“Um... well I don’t really know how long I was locked in the closet, but it started when Sir showed up at Brendon’s-Brendon’s apartment. He got me out in the hallway and I just remember falling down the stairs and he threw my head on the ground.”  
“When you say sir, are you referring to Michael Way?”  
“Yes, sir.”  
“Alright, go on.” His partner jots something down and I stop to watch him briefly before continuing.

“He-he took me back here and tied me to the bed post with a cord.” I get out before my breathing begins to fail me. Brendon squeezes my hand lightly and I squeeze back. “I was tied there until the next day, but that night he... I,” 

I trail off and the cop gestures for me to continue, but my voice gets caught in my throat. My arm wraps around Brendon’s instead of just holding his hand and I latch myself to him. I think my hands are just looking to do anything at this moment. Anything to distract my mind from remembering that night.

“Peter,” The officer begins gently.  
“Pete.” Brendon corrects before I get the chance.  
“Pete, did Michael touch or do anything to you in some way? Something you didn’t like?”

My jaw clenches before I force out a nod.  
“We really need you to elaborate on that.” The second man says, seeming to choose his words rather carefully.  
“Well... my arms were still tied and I was sitting. I don’t remember a whole lot, but-but it was dark and he seemed really pissed off. He didn’t like that I ran away and hit me and grabbed my hair.”

I brake off before going on, stalling before the inevitable. Brendon leans into me as I draw my focus to my lap. I refuse to look at the cops or even Brendon. In fact, this would be a whole lot better if he weren’t here. I want to be able to lean on him, but not have him hear me. Just having him here to keep those two guys away from me is what I really want. I know they’re cops, but I still don’t like them starring at me and writing down everything I say.

“Then he... he threatened me if I wasn’t quiet. I don’t remember what he said,”  
“That’s alright.” The taller officer nodded.  
“He took his pants halfway down and he grabbed my hair. He forced his... and my mouth and... I just-I really don’t wanna talk,”  
I cut myself off quickly and look back up to them with pleading eyes.  
“It’s okay, you’ve said enough. You’ve said enough.” He reassures me as I bring my hands back up to tug at my hair.

“Was that all that he did?”  
“All that he did?” Brendon blurts out and puts his arm over my sharp shoulder blades protectively.  
“Sir, please.” The officer begins in a more stern tone than before.  
“Yes, that’s all.” I reply before Brendon can argue further.  
“And what led to Michael’s injuries?”

“Well, the next day he untied me and said I needed to take a shower. He took me in there and when he got in too and tried to touch me...” I stop and lower my hands to rest on the table.

Should I lie? This would be the part where I first hurt him... what if they can arrest me just for that? My mouth works for me before I can make a final decision.

“I pushed him off and he started bleeding. He was really mad with that and went to get a lock for the closet. I tried to get dressed and run downstairs, but he saw me and when I ran back up he got a cord around my neck. He ended up putting the lock on the closet and made me clean it out before telling me to take my clothes back off. Then he locked me in there and-and I was in there for a really long time before I heard him shouting downstairs. I started beating on the floor before I heard him yell Brendon’s name.”

I look up to Brendon who’s eyes flick down to mine, a little red and wet with tears that he must have been swiping at earlier. 

“Then he opened the door and-and I couldn’t believe it. But Sir was still yelling and trying to get in and Brendon went to stop him-or no, he called 911 and then went back to stop him. But, Si-Michael got in and hit him and choked him.”

I notice the red marks on Brendon neck and feel my nostrils flare as silent tears trail my cheeks once again.

“I-I really didn’t like that. Michael only does that to me.” I point to my chest as my voice brakes and look to the officers listening intently. “He doesn’t do that to other people. He... I,”

I hear a thud by the front door and look to see the stretcher come down the stairs with Michael strapped on top of it. At least there’s not a sheet over him, so he must be alive. He’s got a plastic mask blocking most of his face, but Brendon moves his head in front of mine to block my view anyway.

“Hey, it’s alright, he can’t do anything anymore.” He reassures me to which I give him a weak nod before continuing.  
“A-and I saw one of his belts that he used to... I grabbed it and hit him in the back like I’d seen him do. I hit him a few times before he snatched it and pushed me to the floor.”

“I tried to grab anything to brake my fall and broke the bed post off... I really wish it had done that when I was tied to it.” I let out a forced chuckle, but no one seems to find the humor in it. “He started choking Brendon and I got up and hit him with it. I hit him a lot, but Brendon stopped me. After that we looked for his phone to call again. Then you showed up.”

I finish with a heavy sigh and rub my cut wrists. They probably want to put cuffs around them, so I’d like to take advantage of the short lived freedom they’ve come to know in the last few hours. 

“I... I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hit him, he just-he hit Brendon and he didn’t need that.”  
“From what you’ve told me, this was all self-defense.”  
“But... but I-“  
“Pete you didn’t do anything wrong.” Brendon looks to me and the cop lowers his brow.

“Is there something you’re not telling us, Pete?” He asks and I feel like I’m about to sink in my seat all the way down to where I belong, Hell.  
“No, that’s everything I just-I was bad. I’m not a good boyfriend and I hit him and,”  
“And he hit you way more than that.” Brendon reminds me with a sigh.  
“We need to conduct a private interview.” The tall man interrupts while looking from Brendon to me.

I know what that means and I don’t like it at all. They’re trying to get Brendon away from me. They’re going to do something, I knew they were friend’s of Michael’s. I bet they’re just like Gabe. They’ll do exactly what he did... fuck he could do it again. He’s not getting arrested, he’s still out there just like these guys.

“No... no I-no no no no,” I shake my head and tightly hug Brendon to hopefully disappear from this whole situation.  
“It would really help everyone involved if we got a statement from you without Brendon or anyone else around.”  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Brendon scowls at the man as I attempt to sew myself to him at the hip.  
“We’re not accusing you of anything, but under these circumstances we need to hear this from him without anyone here who could possibly sway his story.”

There’s a long silence before I finally look up and see Brendon staring the other men down. I notice his jaw twitch before he clears his throat.

“I understand... I do, it’s just not exactly easy.” He whispers that last part as if he doesn’t want me to hear. “Do you think that maybe we could have... like a women do this? It’s just that after everything that’s happened, two men taking him somewhere else doesn’t seem like the best idea.”

I open my eyes at that because holy shit... did I actually just melt into him? It feels like a ridiculous request, but can he read my mind? I really _don’t_ want to be around these guys and I’m not sure if having a lady ask me questions is better, but at least it’s not these two. 

“Of course... where’s William’s?” He looks to the other man before making a call on the little radio attached to his chest.

 

A few minutes later a blonde women approaches and the two men stand to join her.  
“Pete this is Detective Williams, is it alright if she asks you some questions?”  
I look up to her and notice that she’s way shorter than them and seems a little brighter about the whole situation as well.

I detach myself momentarily from Brendon as I contemplate the question before eventually nodding. Brendon gets up to follow the two guys and I force myself to keep in the whine struggling to come out. The women sits across from me and I sink in my seat.

She goes through the same questions as the other two and I shake my head.  
“I already told them what happened.”  
“I know, it’s just that in situations like these a lot of times victims easily find themselves in another abusive relationship.”

I hate those fucking words. “Abusive” and “victim”. Like I’m some fucking sob story. Well I’m not and I don’t want people thinking I’m gullible enough to get myself into one. Michael wasn’t abusive, sure he could be an asshole, but he wasn’t some monster. He was just... confused. He just wanted me to be a good boyfriend, but I just couldn’t. 

“You can tell me if anything has happened.” Williams leans in with a whisper.  
“What? I already told them everything and-and I really don’t want to have to repeat it.”  
“I understand, but I mean with Brendon.”  
“What about him?”  
“Has he done anything like Michael?”

I pause at that and briefly look to the wall in thought. I guess he has, as in how Michael used to act. Back when he was Mikey, but Brendon is more talkative and open with his emotions than Mikey was. But he hugs me and makes me feel comfortable like Mikey used to. Back when life was full of laughter and relaxing around on park benches or backseats.

“Yeah I guess so,”  
“Really?” Williams goes to write something down and I let out a sigh. I hate when they do that. Cops write too much.  
“Yeah, like, he hugs me and I can laugh around him. Like how Michael used to be.”  
“Oh well... I meant has he touched you in any way that you’re not comfortable with?”  
“W-what? No, not at all. I’m actually the one that tried to kiss him, but he didn’t like that. I-I think he said it was wrong or something.”

It’s a little embarrassing, but she seems relieved with hearing this. She asks me a few more questions about Brendon and I’m honestly happy to answer them. I’d rather talk about him than Michael any day of the week. Williams goes through a few more before sadly circling back to Michael.

“So, how long were you with Michael?”  
“Well... we haven’t technically broken up yet. But, I think it’s safe to say the relationship is over.” My laugh aches, but at least Williams seems to think it’s funny even if she only shares a small smile. “Fo-four years.” 

The four little scars around my bartskull tattoo itch with the memories of him running a cut each anniversary to keep track. I saw the first one as more of a dare or some kind of morbid couples thing to do. He was supposed to have one to match, but he refused once I got mine and realized how bad it hurt. I thought it was kind of cool at the time. Like those couples who get a necklace with their partner’s blood inside. Definitely weird and off the wall, but just enough to find some twisted romance deep inside the gesture.

“He kept track.” My lips let escape before I can have much say in the matter and I immediately regret it.  
“Yeah, I feel like I’m keeping track of my anniversary too. My boyfriend doesn’t have the best memory.” She smirks, but I detect a hint of sarcasm in her voice.  
“No he... never mind.” 

She seems to sense my growing discomfort as I grow silent and fiddle with my jacket’s sleeves.

“If there are any injuries or scars left by Michael, we’ll need to take pictures of them.”  
“Oh no, no I-I can’t do that.”  
“It would really help your case here if we-“  
“No it’s fine, I’m fine. Nothing happened.”  
“Well obviously something has and judging by the cuts around your wrists I’m guessing there’s more.”  
“No there’s really not.”  
“Well can you pull up your sleeves so I can get a better look? We’ll need to take a picture anyway.”

She knows what she’s doing and I’m not about to fall into this trap. I pull at my sleeves only to show off a few centimeters and study her gentle hands approaching my own.

“Have the medics seen this?”  
“Yeah, they put something on them, but they said they’d be fine.”  
“Other than this though, you’re alright?”  
“Yeah, you should be asking Brendon this stuff, he got the worst of it.”  
“Oh trust me, I’m sure they are right now. In fact, we’re just about done, so why don’t we go join them?”

I follow her out to the living room where Brendon is seated on one couch and nodding along to whatever the officer on the other sofa seems to be explaining. I quickly find my place beside him and he grins back to me. I lean onto his shoulder and grip his shirt once again.

“I was just speaking with Pete about how we’ll need to get pictures of his injuries.” Williams announces to the small group and Brendon turns to look at her more seriously.  
“Oh okay and you’re alright with that, Pete?”  
“Sure, but they’re just taking pictures of my wrists.”

Brendon looks down to me silently before eventually shaking his head.  
“Pete, I know there’s more than that.” He mutters unblinking.  
“No, th-that’s all.”  
“No, it’s not. They need to see everything or Mikey’s going to get off on some assault charge and maybe rape. They need this.”

Brendon looks to me sternly and I practically fold beneath his stare. I nod and blink my eyes back up to Williams. I inform her that there’s more and she gives me a knowing smile as if she’s not surprised in the slightest. Just that silent exchange pisses me off a bit, but I’m not exactly in the position to argue right now.

We end up at the police department... I think. I’m really not sure, but the building looked official when we pulled up. I zoned out a little bit at after I told Williams there was more than just the marks on my wrists from the cord. We went to a private room and this time there was a different women speaking. She had gloves on as if that could convince me she was some doctor or nurse. The police uniform gave her away a bit, I’m not that fucking dumb.

“Do you want me in here too?” Brendon asks shyly as he stops in the doorway, my hand tugging at his before I realize he’s not moving anymore.  
“Um... wait, what’re you going to do?” I look back to lady turning her camera on.  
“Well, you’re going to stand here in front of this wall and I’m going to take pictures of anything caused by him.” She explains as if I’m just taking some ID photo to work here. “He can be in here if you’d like.”

“Y-yeah, can you?” I look up to Brendon already nodding and following me once again.  
“Alright, so what are we taking pictures of exactly?” The women asks and my brain stalls out momentarily.  
“Oh um, well my wrists got cut from the cord.” I start and she directs me to bring my sleeves up farther.  
“It would be better if you took your jacket off actually.” 

I nod and slide the zipper down with shaking hands, which she thankfully doesn’t point out as the camera flashes on them. I glance over to Brendon leaning on the wall and running a hand through his hair.

“Where else?” I swear this question echos through the silence that continues. I can see Brendon’s head swivel back up to look at me, possibly testing whether I’ll say the truth or not. “How about this, I can see a few scars on your arms. Were those caused by him?”  
“Th-these five, but not this one.” I point to the small indention on my elbow. “That was from a guitar swinging into my arm.”  
“Alright, lets start there.”

I turn my arms for each picture as she goes on to ask questions about the guitar.  
“So, you like music?”  
“Yeah, I used to play bass, so did Michael.”  
“I’ve never been very musically inclined,” She snaps another photo before continuing. “But I’ve always wanted to be able to play something. Guess I’ll just have to settle with the recorder I learned in fourth grade.” She lets out a tight lipped laugh and I actually join her.

The humor in the room is vacuumed out as soon as she looks back up to me with expectant eyes. I let out a stuttering sigh before the inevitable question.

“Where else?”  
I pull my jacket off of the floor and tighten my arms around it without looking up.  
“Pete,” Brendon starts and takes a step forward after I don’t reply. “I can leave if you want.” I let out a quiet agreement and he disappears behind the door without any other questions.

I don’t say anything to the camera girl after Brendon leaves and just tug at the hem of my shirt. I really wish there was a way for me to take the pictures myself, but I know that’s impossible. I finally pull my shirt up and over my head, but to my surprise she doesn’t make a sound either. She doesn’t give me any strange looks or apologies for something that doesn’t relate to her at all. I’m a bit relieved with this reaction actually.

“Which ones were from him?”  
“Well,” I clear my throat before it literally brakes because this is the first person other than Michael, Gabe, and briefly Brendon has seen me shirtless in the last few months. “All of them... or maybe just a bunch of botched surgeries.”

I’m able to pull a slight smirk from her before she focuses her camera on my lower stomach. My “anniversary presents” on each side of my tattoo, but I don’t mention that connecting story and let her scan the rest of my chest for anything else. I can see my ribs jutting a bit and she puts her camera to them despite not having any scars there.

“Would you say that your malnutrition was from him as well?”  
“Malnutrition?”  
“Yes, or are you anorexic?”  
“No.” I grimace as if she’s just accused me of something.  
“Well, this isn’t normal... did he starve you?”  
“Nothing about this is normal, but I don’t really know about the whole starving thing. I wouldn’t say that.”

She moves on from the subject, but not before taking a picture of my stomach, or lack thereof. Before she can even ask I turn around to show my back. I’ve never seen a picture of it before, but I know it’s fucked up. I mean, I can _feel_ the marks anytime I go to scratch my back.

All I can hear is her sigh before the camera lens clicks away.  
“Is there anything else?”  
“There’s like two on my feet.” I snatch up my shirt and take a deep breath as I reach down to untie my right shoe. 

She gets her shot of it and goes to the door to let Brendon back in as I get my shoe back on. He hands me my jacket with a comforting smile, but I just zip it up and follow the lady out of the room with my hood pulled over my head to hide in.

I just want to go back to Brendon’s and forget about this entire place. Even though it was just my shirt, I felt way too exposed. I don’t even know this women and she just took pictures of the one place I didn’t even want Brendon seeing, let alone an entire room full of strangers intently staring at the photos. I don’t want anyone’s pity party, I just want to go _home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, I don’t know the whole procedure for what abuse victims go through with police, so this was all a wild guess. Also, so no one’s confused, the two cops are not friends of Mikey. It was just Pete’s anxiety convincing him of this. Anyway, hope you’re still into this fic, I mean you’ve made it this far right? Thanks for reading and don’t be afraid to comment or ask questions.


	19. Stay For As Long As You Have Time

Brendon

 

Pete seemed a little out of it after the pictures were taken. He kept his hood on without another word for the rest of the time. Well I guess I shouldn’t say that, that’s a bit extreme, but he didn’t say anything else to me in particular. There were a few other papers that needed to be signed and people talking about what his plans were for therapy which he seemed to wince at anytime the word was brought up. 

He finally agreed to meet with someone every Monday and Thursday and since he didn’t have a job it didn’t exactly mess up his “busy” schedule. They really wanted to talk with him more about it, but he would only give one word answers or a shake of his head to any relating questions.

I didn’t really ask him anything on the ride home, it was already pretty late and we weren’t exactly offered the option of going back to Mikey’s apartment to collect any of his things. I’m not sure if it’s still considered a “crime scene” or not, but Pete didn’t appear to be very adamant about going back. In fact, he actually broke away from my hand to speed walk over to my car once he spotted it and ignored my question on whether he wanted to go back or not. I took that as a no.

When we got to my place he was still silent and starring at every little thing as if he was taking it all in again. Almost like he couldn’t believe he was back here and wanted to pinch himself to make sure it was real. He wasn’t exactly in awe though, he still had that same solemn edge to himself and I’m still not sure how to really break it yet.

“You want anything to eat? I know they gave you some muffins and all, but it’s not exactly filling.” I offer as I approach the stove and watch him take his place on the couch.  
“No... what’re they going to do with him?” He responds for the first time with more than a nod, but still throws me with the random question.  
“Oh, well I’m not entirely sure. I know he’s in the hospital right now, but probably with like a guard or something. So you’re definitely safe.”

“They-they said all of that would help with my case.”  
“Well yeah, it will. They needed your statement and evidence of everything.”  
“So, he’s going to jail?”  
“Oh, yeah hopefully... you want that don’t you?”  
“Yeah I just-I don’t know.”

Pete lowers his gaze back to his knees and leans back on the couch.  
“How about I make some popcorn and we watch a movie? Pretty late to full on cook a dinner, right?” I change the subject which seems to perk him up just a little bit.  
“Sure.” I draw a smirk out of him as he grabs the remote from the coffee table.

The lady who took the pictures had pulled me aside while Pete was being questioned yet again and told me to keep him eating. She wasn’t really just informing me, it was more of an order. An order that I will gladly take since I had been basically forcing him through three meals a day last time he stayed here. 

I finish with the popcorn and plop myself beside him. He doesn’t eat much through the movie at first, but I end up just handing him the bowl after his fingers sneak over at least eight times. He rapidly eats the popcorn with each handful as if it might be his last meal. When the cops asked him how long it had been since he’d eaten he didn’t answer with me around, but I did hear someone ask him when I walked away. It must have been a while by the looks of his ravenous eating. 

Pete doesn’t even seem to be paying much attention to the movie and I’d be surprised if he could even hear it over his crunching. He does stop at one point when he notices my starring and offers the bowl back to me, but I wave him off and push it back to his lap. He continues to pick at the remaining kernels a little more quietly and finally looks up to the tv. When the movie finally ends I look over and notice that he’s passed out with his head pointing up like a baby bird looking to eat. I nudge his arm and he finally stirs before snapping awake.

“Hey, I’m going to bed... I can sleep out here if you want.” I offer, but he quickly shakes his head.  
“No, no that’s okay. You can sleep in there, the couch is fine.”  
“Yeah, I’m actually surprised you fell asleep. You were usually up pretty late last time.” 

I throw out the rest of the chewed popcorn kernels before saying goodnight and returning to my room. I’m only in bed for about half an hour before I hear the door creak open. Feet pad their way in as Pete silently closes the door. I can barely make out his shadow, but I don’t say anything as he goes around the bed. 

I feel the mattress creak down as he sits and crawls in beside me. I can hear his shuttered breaths, but he doesn’t touch my back or tug on the covers. It’s a little hard to sleep when you’ve got a grin stretching across your face. I really hope he’s not still terrified that Mikey will find a way in and that this is all by choice, not fear. 

It isn’t long before his breathing evens out and I take the opportunity to turn around as gently as possible. He looks much more peaceful sleeping like this than leaning his head back on the couch haphazardly. His hair is just long enough to reach his mouth where it’s pushed up slightly with each exhale. I can tell his eyes are moving behind the lids and his mouth opens, but he doesn’t make a sound. 

A small voice in my head warns me that he might say Mikey’s name in his sleep and I’m afraid my heart might shatter at that. There’s still nothing though, no dramatic mumbling or curses, just a content and relaxed look resting against the pillow. 

He must really trust me if he’s choosing to be in a bed with me. He was very private before, enough that if he stayed on the couch he would go and get changed in the bathroom instead of taking his chances in the living room. I can’t promise that he won’t run off and do the same thing tomorrow morning, but this feels like a big enough step in my opinion. 

I close my eyes and let myself sink into this moment of bliss. There’s no more worrying about Mikey braking in or the cops banging on my door, we can just _live_. I can finally sleep knowing that Pete is alright and somewhere that is actually going to treat him like a human being. This right here is the most freeing feeling I’ve felt in a very long time. 

 

Pete

 

My arm seems to wake up before my brain as I move it slightly under me and the soreness sets in. My shoulders still ache from being tied up for so long, but not as bad as when I was locked in the closet. A part of me wants to keep sleeping as if I could just pause everything and escape for just a little longer. I open my eyes slightly anyway and see an unfamiliar dresser with curtains beside it doing little to block out the impending light. I go to get up, but feel something draped over me.

Oh fuck... he’s here. I thought I fought him off and there were cops and Brendon and a stretcher and pictures. Why the hell was I waking up next to him again? That’s not our dresser though and we don’t have a window right there. These aren’t our bed sheets and this certainly doesn’t smell like Michael so how the fuck is his arm over me?

I curl in on myself just to keep my heart from bursting through my chest. _Why the fuck is he here?_ Tears well up behind my eyes at the thought of it all being a dream or that I’m currently stuck right back in the same nightmare I assumed I escaped. My shoulders shake and a hand scrapes my jaw before moving away. 

“Pete?” I hear a groggy voice let out, but I immediately relax a bit upon realizing it wasn’t like Michael’s tone at all. “You okay?”  
“Y-yeah I just...” My words catch in my throat and I’m not sure how to finish that sentence.  
“Good morning.”  
“Oh yeah, good morning.”

I haven’t woken up to someone saying good morning to _me_ in a seriously long time. It feels so foreign. I was always the one that said that first, not Michael. I flip over to see Brendon’s eyes blink over to me tiredly and he grins.

“Do you remember coming in here?” He asks through a hollow yawn.  
“I-I do now, scared me when I woke up though.” His yawn is contagious as I let one out myself and give him a smile afterward.  
“Oh yeah, sorry about having my arm all over you. I didn’t even know,” Brendon quickly takes his hand back with a sympathetic look.  
“That’s alright.” I shrug as best as I can with one shoulder digging into the mattress.

He gets up and stretches briefly before making his way toward the bathroom. The bed feels empty without him, so I avoid it and get up too. I take this as my chance to look around for any of my things that might have been left. Michael said he only took a few shirts, so there should be a lot here. I avoid his closet even though that would probably be the most likely place for my clothes to be. I really don’t want to be back inside one of those after just getting out. 

I look to the top of his dresser but don’t find anything and search around the bedside table. I check under the bed just as Brendon comes back in with a toothbrush in his mouth.

“Hey... so what’re you doing down there?” He pauses his brushing as my shoulders jump at his voice.  
“I-I’m just looking for my clothes from before.” I look back up to him anxiously hoping he’s not mad about me rummaging through his room.  
“Oh, yeah they’re right over there in the top drawer.”

I have my own drawer? Like he actually cleared a space for my things, moved his clothes, just so my stuff wasn’t sitting in a plastic bag? I wasn’t here for that long, I was fine with the bag. I never asked for a drawer although my socks had a habit of finding their way into Brendon’s dresser after a wash. I just figured that was because we had similar socks and mixing those up seemed easy enough.

“I put your backpack and box of pictures on the top shelf in the closet.” Brendon points to the door and turns back to get to the bathroom.

I don’t dare open the closet, the backpack of notebooks and random souvenirs doesn’t matter right now. I do however slide open the drawer and find my shirts neatly folded with my pants beside them just as ordered. A few pairs of socks and boxers line the edges and I’m sure the rest of them are somewhere in one of Brendon’s drawers. 

I don’t really need to get changed right now, I just wanted to check and make sure everything was still here and as far as I can tell, it is. I’m honestly surprised, with whatever note Michael left him I would have figured he’d throw it all out. Which reminds me, I should ask Brendon about that note and whether he actually did leave one. 

I go to the bathroom once he’s done and find that my toothbrush is still sitting in the same exact spot beside his. It’s such a strange feeling to find everything here as if I never left. Almost like I’ve been thrown into an episode of wife swap with Michael gone and Brendon seeming to take his place. 

When I come back he’s sitting on the couch with what I’m guessing to be cereal with the sound of a scraping spoon. It looks like he’s watching some hospital drama, but I don’t question it.

“Oh hey, cereal’s still on the top shelf if you want some.” He directs when he notices my entry. “So, you’ve got that doctors appointment today. I already called off work even though... I mean I’m basically out of there anyway.”

He chuckles a bit, but I don’t join him and instead direct all of my attention to the cereal boxes. I can’t exactly reach them all that well, but I don’t say anything and jump up slightly until my fingers graze them. My sore knees seem to cry out a bit, but I reach the box nonetheless. 

I’m really not looking forward to this “doctors” appointment. It’s just more people hassling me about this case. I’m pretty sure they’re just trying to gain more evidence by having a doctor sign off on it. I don’t want to see Michael again but... I don’t necessarily want to see him go to jail. It’s not like he killed anyone or stole something. He just couldn’t control his temper and sometimes I added to that with getting in the way or nagging him. Now everyone just talks so badly of him and I’m not sure how to react with any of it.

Everyone just expects me to suddenly be against him like this was all some strange feud and I finally came out the victor. I didn’t like some of the things he did, but it didn’t seem out of the ordinary or necessarily wrong. It was all normal and was worth going through for the good times.

“Pete?” Brendon looks over and I stop starring at the box in my hands that I seemed to be holding rather tightly. “So you’re cool with that?”  
“Huh? I’m sorry.” I look up to him in confusion before going to find a bowl.  
“You’re alright with me driving you to the doctors right?”  
“Oh yeah, thanks.”

I begin pouring out the cereal and fill it all the way to the top for once, only to find that I can’t exactly pour any milk in at this point. I tore through two muffins and an apple in that meeting room yesterday in between questionings. The lady talking to me about therapy said they could get me more to eat, but I was already getting full after the apple. At this point it was as if I’d never eaten as my stomach growled at the sight of the bowl.

I grabbed a spoon and began digging through the dry cereal to make some room for the milk. I didn’t even bother sitting anywhere, too transfixed by the feeling of actually eating something. I ignore the nagging discomfort at possibly gaining weight, but this is too good to give up. Even if it was just some off brand Cocoa Puffs, it tasted like a five star meal.

“There’s milk in the fridge you know.” Brendon finishes off his bowl and I pause as I realize I’ve eaten half of mine already.  
I get some more, but leave room for the milk to not make it overflow before adding it.

“Shit do you want anything else? I should have actually made something. I wasn’t even thinking.” Brendon gets up but I shrug without looking away from my spoon.  
“This-this is perfect.” I say between bites, but he still doesn’t seem satisfied with my reply.  
“Let me get some eggs,”  
“No, this is great. I’m almost full anyway.”

I could tell he doubted my answer, but ignored it anyway as he places his bowl in the sink. I finally take a seat at the counter so I wasn’t hovering over the bowl so much like some starved stray.

Brendon leaves to get changed and I finish up, but not before grabbing a pop tart and cup of water.  
“Alright so the appointment’s at one, so you should probably start getting changed.” He enters and starts searching for shoes.

I bite back the ‘yes, Sir’ and remind myself that he doesn’t like that. I go to get dressed and actually take a minute to look at myself in the mirror. The faded bruises and scars were calling my eyes, but I try not to focus on them. It doesn’t look I gained anything despite what my mind was telling me while I was eating. I know I can’t automatically have food just drop to my gut right after eating it, but the thought always crosses my mind anyway. Michael always said skinny was best and now it just seems like a fact to me. No one would want me if I was fat and I would’ve never eaten like I just did a few minutes ago. Sir would be so disappointed if he saw me.

“Hey, Pete?” I jump up when I hear a knock at the door and throw my shirt on.  
“Y-yeah?”  
“It’s already twelve thirty, we kind of need to get going soon.”  
“Sorry, yeah, I’ll be right out.”

I pull on a hoodie to top of my outfit that seemed to cover up every part of me. It will probably make this whole exam a little more complicated, but I liked this more. Having layers was just comfortable at this point, especially for being in public. Michael made sure I always wore jeans and long sleeves and I never fought him on it since I didn’t want anyone to see either. Now I got the opportunity to have multiple people gawking and taking pictures of my body like some zoo animal.  
_Lucky me._

I come out and mess with my hair in the mirror while Brendon pulls on his own jacket. My hair was not looking very good this morning, but he came over to help with the stubborn strand poking out in the back. Michael never did that, even in the beginning. His hair was always a little wild back then so mine being messed up was never a big deal.

We headed off to the doctor’s office which I later learned was an actual hospital and not the small little building I was expecting. The size of the place made me a little nervous, but Brendon hooked a hand on my shoulder and squeezed as we walked up. I didn’t want to risk holding his hand, that might be a little too much.

He already made it clear that he wasn’t interested after I kissed him. I don’t want to scare him off this soon and especially not right now. This wasn’t my normal hospital and it took me long enough to get used to that place and not be so freaked out with all the rushing inside. It certainly wasn’t this big and I didn’t trust it for a second. Brendon was my anchor right now, the only person I could trust. Medical degree or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the unexpected break, I really didn’t think it would be that long. I’ve already started the next chapter though and it should be posted Monday as usual. The fic’s back on track and hopefully I haven’t lost any readers with this.


	20. You’ve Earned Your Place Atop The ICU’s Hall Of Fame

Brendon

 

We go through the first waiting room and follow the signs to the desk I guessed was meant for us judging by the fact that Pete is most certainly not pregnant or a child. Everything else seemed centered around those two subjects, so I take the first area that didn’t say anything about either of those.

I gave the man behind the computer Pete’s name and he nodded with a bright smile. Pete didn’t seem comforted by it despite the man’s efforts. He simply grips my hand and hides halfway behind me without looking up. I could tell he had been stressed about the whole situation since we left and seeing his eyes widen as we pulled in wasn’t any more reassuring.

Guiding him through the crowded waiting room up front wasn’t exactly easy, but I’d gotten him through it and luckily this one didn’t seem so bad. There were only a few old couples and one small family by the window, but other than that we had free range of the place. I take the papers from the receptionist for Pete to fill out while we wait and sit us down in a far corner by some magazines. 

“You just need to fill these out, okay?” I hand Pete the forms and he unlatches his hands from my arm momentarily to take the pen.

He nods and begins reading through them and shakily checking a few boxes as the clock across from us ticks away. I look up to the pastel flower painting beside me and take out my phone to see if I can get any signal. Those germ infested gardening magazine’s don’t look too tempting even if I can’t do anything on my phone.

Pete asks a few questions and I help him with the last few papers. I didn’t realize just how many times he’d been to a hospital before with how many boxes he’d checked off on one form. I also had no idea he was bipolar and sighed slightly when I noticed he hadn’t checked off any of the eating disorders. I know I could easily shrug it off as Michael just not letting him eat, but I know Pete’s not a fan of eating on his own anyway.

I had to try and control my smile this morning when I saw him actually eating that much. I didn’t really like seeing him be pushed that far that he was practically choking down cereal so desperately, but getting anything in his stomach was cause for a party at this point.

Once the distraction of the papers was done his arm curls back under mine and he grips my sleeve.

“It’s alright, you know? It’s a hospital, it’s meant to help people.”  
“I know I just... there’s too many people.”  
“Yeah, that’s how they are sometimes.”

Pete pauses and leans up to whisper in my ear.  
“I don’t like the desk guy or-or that guy.” He looks over at the dad sitting between the two kids and I hold back a grin.  
“What? Why? He’s just a guy with his kids.”  
“What if something happens?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Like... with the doctor.”

I take a minute to realize he’s moved on from his worrying about the dad and is on to a completely different subject. That’s one thing I’ve learned from him, he moves from conversations like a rotating door. Sometimes having two separate discussions at the same time, but I’m learning to keep up.

“I’m pretty sure I can be in there if you want.”  
“Yeah, definitely. Please. I don’t... is this doctor a guy?”  
“Well the slip the victim advocate lady gave me yesterday says the first name is Elisa so I’d guess they’re a women.”

Pete relaxes a bit with this news and nods while bringing up his other hand to pick at his lip. I’ve picked up on some of his habits lately and that seemed to be a new one. He didn’t bite his nails, but he always fiddled with them and kept them clean. Pulling at his hair was something he’d done even during the last time he stayed with me. He mainly did it when he got worked up or seemed really stressed with something, but he luckily hadn’t done it yet. I’m not really worried that he’d pull out his hair, he never tugs that hard, but it’s still not a pretty sight. 

“Peter?” A women calls from an open door and I nudge Pete up. He still keeps a strong hold of my arm as we pass the father and soon the receptionist. The nurse smiles and gestures for us to follow as we’re directed to a scale.

Pete struggles to keep his balance while taking off his shoes and stepping up to the scale. He pays close attention to the sliding boxes as the lady taps each one to figure out his weight. I look over his shoulder briefly when she seems to be getting close to getting it and tightly shake my head at the number.   
One hundred and one.

I back away before Pete can notice me looking and he follows the women to get his height checked. We reach the small office and he’s offered to sit up on the table but takes the seat beside mine instead. The nurse leaves and I can feel Pete’s shoulders rising and falling rather quickly against mine. His hands are still locked around my arm with one underneath it to ensure he can’t just be easily pulled away.

When the door opens back up Pete tightens his grip before realizing it’s only the nurse again. She wheels in a machine for his blood pressure before looking to him.

“Hun can I get you to sit up her please?” She gestures to the table and it takes Pete a minute before he finally gets up and lifts himself on top of the wrinkled sheet over the table. He bites his lip as his feet dangle and the women takes out the Velcro cuff.

He flinches slightly at the sound of the Velcro tearing, but stays still as she wraps it around his arm. Pete watches the cuff inflate and for a moment actually seems distracted enough to not look like he’s about to throw open the door and bolt down the hallway. He’s only torn from this content state when the cuff is ripped off and the nurse backs away to write something down.

“She should be in here shortly.” The nurse smiles and begins to roll the device back out of the door.  
“See Pete?” I say once she’s gone. “The doctor’s not a guy.” 

Pete tightly nods and nervously runs his hands down his jeans. He keeps glancing at the chair beside me, but remains on the table for now. 

“What’re they... what’s she going to do?” He asks and looks down to his hanging sneakers.   
“She’s just going to check out your bruises and everything from a doctor’s point of view. Nothing bad, just like a check up.”  
He nods again and relaxes his shoulders a bit before the doctor finally enters. 

“Hello,” She greats warmly and sits at the desk. “I’m Doctor Yao.  
“Hello, I’m Brendon.” I return and Pete gives a forced smile that fades a little too quickly.  
“Peter, how are you doing today?”  
“Good.” Pete’s voice seems to choke after hearing his name.  
“It’s just Pete.” I shrug with Pete’s nod.

Pete actually does look at her, but not for very long. I can tell he’s a little uncomfortable with being on the table and not against the wall in a chair or beside me. The open space must not be his favorite spot.

“Oh okay, well I’m just going to check your lungs and heart is that alright?” Pete nods as she gets up and puts a stethoscope to his heart and moving onto his back. She explains everything she does before touching him and he doesn’t even flinch when she does. I kind of wish I could tip her for making the extra effort.

“Everything sounds good, now it says here you’re bipolar. Are you taking any medication for that? It’s just that nothing was listed.” Pete looks to me as if I would know before he answers.  
“Oh sorry, I didn’t know, Seroquel and Paxil. They seem to be alright so far.”  
“That’s alright, I’ll just fill those in.”

They go over his long history with different drugs before prescribing him something to help with his sleeping after I bring it up to Pete’s dismay. He was alright last night, but I know he’s not the best sleeper. He’s told me this himself.

“I... I liked the Xanax more than these new ones.”  
“Well that’s a pretty serious drug, Pete.” She fixes him with a serious stare. “It really doesn’t help with sleep either.”

Pete gives her a silent agreement and doesn’t look up from his hands. I’ve heard of people getting hooked on that, I had a brief history with it myself, but nothing serious. With everything he’s been on I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d ever taken something he probably shouldn’t have.

She checks his temperature and throat before rubbing the sides of his neck. Everything must be alright since she doesn’t seem to be taking any particular interest with each action. She puts a light to his eyes and ears and has him follow it as it slowly moves from left to right.

“Have you ever experienced any head force trauma?”  
“Um... well yeah I guess.”  
“Well your pupils aren’t really reacting to the light. They’re not as bad as I’ve seen before though, but this can be a result of hitting your head very hard. Has that ever happened?”  
“Yes.”  
“Well they’re at least the same size, if they varied then we’d be more concerned. You’ve most likely had a concussion untreated though.”

“Could you please take your hoodie off so I can see your arms?” Pete shifts a bit, but takes it off without any problems. “And these scars, are any of them self afflicted?”  
“No.”

Pete’s eyes draw over to me, but he quickly looks away and directs his attention to her hands scanning his arm. She pulls up his sleeve to look at his shoulder and goes to write something down.

“This cut here, when did it happen?”   
“A couple weeks ago I guess.”  
“Well it doesn’t seem infected, which is good. Was this from him?”  
“Yeah, I’m not going to have to like... take my shirt off and everything right?”  
“No unless anything’s hurting. Any complaints of pain?”  
“Just like, my shoulders and arms. Sometimes my knees when I jump or bend them a lot.”

“I can imagine, they’ll be sore for a while. I’m already aware of your whole situation and not moving them for so long would result in that. Try not to jump or cause any sudden movements. Just take it slow and in the meantime I can prescribe you some pain killers if needed, but I’d rather not have you taking too much at once.”  
“Can I just take some Advil?”  
“Yes you can.”

His wrists were still pretty scratched up from the cord, but he didn’t complain and goes to hold his jacket tightly in his lap instead. We wrap things up and Pete is grateful to get off the table and sit beside me again.

“I’m going to go and take care of these prescriptions, Brendon could you please come with me.” I’m surprised with being called out and Pete seems to tense up while pulling on his hoodie.  
“Oh ok... I’ll be right back.” I look down to Pete and he grabs my arm with a silent plea when I go to get up. “I promise, alright?”

He lets me go and I follow Yao outside to the nurses station right across from her office. She hands the papers she’d been filling out through his check up to a nurse behind the counter and says something to her, but I don’t catch it. I’m a little preoccupied with making sure Pete doesn’t come running out of the room.

“So I understand you’re Peter’s caretaker.”  
“Yeah, but again it’s really not good to call him Peter. It’s just that... I think his ex used to call him that or something. He’s just really touchy about it.”  
“Oh, god, I’m sorry. That was not mentioned in the notes.”  
“It’s alright, everyone does it. I hope he gets used to it again, but right now he’s just really stressed with being in the hospital with the crowds and all.”

“I completely understand, anyway what I wanted to talk to you about is just some general things. He’s currently underweight for his height, not by a terrible margin, but still concerning. I mean, you can tell...” She seems to trail off, but I just nod knowing she doesn’t want to sound insulting.  
“Yeah, he’s pretty bony.”   
“Exactly, just keep him eating, but not too much at once. His stomach has most likely shrunk due to not having eaten much for so long. Also, his meds, make sure he’s taking them.” 

I nod along to her tips and mentally jot them down.  
“He’s going to be seeing a psychologist, correct?”  
“Yeah, he has his first session this Thursday.”  
“Alright, that’s good. Fearing crowded places is pretty normal for most people, but in his case I would suggest trying to reintroduce him to society.”  
“So, like take him out more or?”  
“Yes, but I would speak with his therapist on the subject more and see what they suggest. The best thing would to just take things slow and you know, be there for him.”

I nod as she pauses to check that I’m still paying attention.  
“This has definitely been a traumatic experience for him as it would be for anyone. His comfort and health are the main priorities here.” She finishes before telling me I can go back in with him and leave.

I open the door and Pete snaps his eyes up to me before relaxing his shoulders. I tell him we can go and he immediately stands up to take my arm and follow me outside. 

“What’d you guys talk about?” I hear Pete mutter behind me as his eyes flick across the hallway walls and passing nurses.  
“She just wanted to make sure I was taking things slow with you and,”  
“Don’t.”  
“What?”  
“I’m not slow, so please d-don’t treat me slow.”  
“No, no I know you’re not. She just knows how stressed you get and to keeps things calm around the house.”

I’m guessing Mikey must have liked to undermine him or else he wouldn’t be so adamant about being treated the same. Or perhaps its just felt a bit like everyone’s been treating him like a kid lately. Maybe it’s a mix of both, but either way I don’t plan on doing that to him. I just need to reintroduce him back to a normal life of going shopping or seeing movies and just having an actual social life again. Maybe I can even get him to reconnect with some of his old friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this chapter didn’t get boring, but I didn’t want to just skip over it without some details. I’ve already started the next chapter, should be a bit more interesting. 
> 
> *New people introduced*


	21. You Only Hold Me Up Like This, ‘Cause You Don’t Know Who I Really Am

Pete 

 

We finally get back to Brendon’s car and I feel myself sink into the seat as soon as the door is closed to block out all of the noise. The smell of linoleum and hand sanitizer being taken over by the scent of old leather and Brendon’s shampoo. 

“Wanna grab lunch?” Brendon asks after the click of his seatbelt.  
“Oh, sure.” I give an empty agreement before I can think of what he’s really asking.

I _am_ hungry, but I really hope he means eating back at his place. I’ve had enough crowds for today and I’d rather not be surrounded by more people. I’d survived that Petri dish of germs with coughing old men and snotty kids. I don’t need loud families and grubby handed chefs around my food.

“What’re you in the mood for?” He asks absently while attempting to back out of the parking space.  
I just shrug because it’s honestly up to him.

I’d rather eat at home, but if he really wants to get something, I’ll go along. I don’t want to push him to get anything he doesn’t want. The kitchen was starting to look a little barren, I’m guessing Brendon didn’t do much shopping while I was gone.

“Well there’s plenty of restaurants or we can go somewhere a little smaller. I know there’s a few coffee shops downtown.”  
I’m guessing that was more of a question than a statement, but he seems to have made his decision even without an answer. 

Michael used to do that when we’d go out. I never really chose the places we went, but that was okay. I don’t really like making decisions and Michael was always good for that. 

We pull up to a small coffee shop that I actually do recognize. Everything else around here looks all new and even this place’s sign is different, but I recognize the name and building. We used to come here all the time after shows if the pizza place next door was closed. This cafe was more of a bakery back then and specialized in midnight donuts. Now the pizza place looks to be some kind of knock off Sunglass Hut... I wonder when that happened.

I’m actually thankful that we’re going to someplace small despite it not being the apartment. Maybe we’ll just run in and take it back to the car instead of sitting inside. I just don’t want to run into Gabe or William or any of Michael’s friends for that matter. I’m tired of questions circling him and I just want to eat in peace beside Brendon.

“Is this alright?” He asks, unbuckling his seatbelt, but pausing for my reply.  
“Yeah, I actually remember this place.”  
“Oh cool.” He gets out of the car and I follow him as he asks about what I used to get.

I’m not in the mood for a donut, too fattening. I don’t have the same metabolism I had back then and I’m also not running around a stage ready to hang off of dusty ceiling beams. I’ll probably just stick with a coffee, but my stomach seems to be begging for more and I know Brendon could hear it in the car earlier. It would be impossible not too. It just won’t shut up lately, but it was pretty much empty before the cops showed up, so I can’t blame it.

We walk in and I immediately notice the giant chalkboard over the cashiers with the dozens of different drinks and sandwiches. Donuts are still available, but they don’t seem to be the major product anymore. There’s a lot of vegan choices on the one side and I take a glance at those since they’ve usually got less calories.

There’s about three people ahead of us and the women at the counter had an entire list of drinks she was reading out for the cashier so I’m not really worried about being rushed to decide. Brendon settles on some sort of caramel drink and a sandwich and I agree to the same thing at the last minute. 

I don’t really like Brendon spending twenty dollars on lunch, but I don’t think he’d like me just getting a banana or black coffee to save some money. He never questioned anything I ate like Michael and didn’t seem to care how much he’d have to buy to replace it. I’m just worried I ate too much of his food the last time I stayed or hiked up his water bill with showering, but he always insisted. He doesn’t seem to have as much money as Michael, but I don’t want to make any assumptions.

The little girl in front of us finally decides on what muffin she wants and we’re up next. I let Brendon order for me since it’s the same thing. The lady smiles at me and I make an attempt at returning it, but I’m not sure how well it looked. It’s been awhile since I’ve actually been out to eat somewhere. I can’t even remember the last place anymore, it was probably a bad night since I haven’t gone anywhere since. 

We wait for our drinks and I zone out as Brendon tells some story about a similar cafe where he used to live because the man making our coffee is a little distracting. I definitely know that hair, even if it is tied up under a cheesy visor. I’ve never met anyone with that dark of red hair, bordering brown. We spent half of high school together and god knows how long after that. He’s still got his back to us, but it has to be him. 

I freeze when he turns and looks to us with an even slit of a mouth, almost bored looking. My memory knew it was him, but my body wasn’t prepared as I pause, waiting for his turn in recognizing me. He was never much of a talker outside of band practice and hanging out at the house.  
Those were much better days.

“Pete and... Brandon.”  
“Goddamnit.” Brendon whispers under his breath before lifting his hand. “They never get it right.” 

I smirk briefly as we walk over, but it wipes away once we approach the counter. 

“Anything el... Pete?” He looks up past his visor and adjusts it out of his face.  
“H-Hey Andy.” I let out quietly, I’m not really sure if he wants to hug me or reach over the counter and smack me. 

Probably the latter, I mean I did basically abandon him after Michael got me a new phone and number. I wouldn’t be mad if he did, I fully deserve it. He’d stuck by me through all of my bullshit and then I just let Michael take over and... well we didn’t end on the best terms.

“Oh my god, I didn’t even recognize you.” Andy smiles and scans me from top to bottom.  
“Oh... is that bad?”  
“No no! Not at all, it’s mainly your hair. It’s so long I mean, last time I saw it you were shaved and-“ He brakes off and takes his hat off to run a hand through his hair and catch his breath.

He laughs and I’m not really sure at what, but he seems very happy and it’s just contagious. Brendon hasn’t said anything, but he seems happy with this too as he grins. I’ve always missed Andy the most and I immediately recognize that smile. It was few and far between but this one was real. This was the type of smile reserved for a new set of drums or when he got his first car.

“I-you know I’m about to go on break. I really want to talk, give me like twenty minutes alright?” He composes himself and realizes he needs to start the next order.  
“Yeah, sure. We’ll be back there.” I gesture to the seating area before backing up.

There’s a bit of an awkward shuffle between the two of us, neither wanting to be the first to turn. I’m really surprised he seems so happy about seeing me. I really thought he’d hated me this entire time. At least that’s what Michael had said and it just made sense. Why would he still want to be my friend after not speaking to him for almost four years and basically choosing another guy over him?

Brendon follows me to one of the back booths to sit across from me once I finally turn away.  
“So... who was that.” He smirks and hands me my sandwich.  
“Andy, we were friends in high school and were in a few bands together.”  
“Oh that’s really cool, what kind of bands?”  
“Like just some metal bands, political stuff. He was the drummer and I was usually vocals or bass.”  
“You can sing?”  
“Well... I can scream.”

Brendon laughs along as we unwrap our food and I sufficiently burn my mouth on the coffee. It’s not long before Andy comes back to join us. He sits next to Brendon and greets me yet again.

“Hey, sorry, I’m Andy.” He puts out his hand to Brendon who immediately shakes it.  
“I’m Brendon, I’m guessing you already know Pete.”  
“Yeah... it’s been too long, man.”

Andy looks back to me and my eyes flick to the table before he continues.  
“So, what have you been up to for the past like four years?” He laughs a bit, but it does seem to hold a serious undertone.  
“Well, just normal stuff I guess.”  
“You still play bass?”  
“You know, not so much actually. I miss it though, I should get back to it.”

“Oh well I’m in this new band, it’s really not much though. To be honest our bassist right now... well, he’s not the best.”  
“Oh what’s it called?”  
“We don’t have a name yet, it’s really just something Joe and his roommate made up.”  
“I guess I should find my bass then.”

I chuckle and take a bite from my sandwich and think back to where my bass could possibly be. It hadn’t been in Michael’s closet since I was the one that cleaned it out, but maybe the downstairs one. I feel like I would’ve noticed it when getting the vacuum, but perhaps it was hidden behind something. Michael really didn’t want me finding any reasons to go join that band again, so I’m sure he put it somewhere I wouldn’t easily find or reach.

“So, Andy, how long have you been working here?” Brendon throws out between bites and looks to the redhead.  
“About three years, Pete remember coming in here after a show? The poor people working here had to hate us.”  
“Well yeah, it was like two in the morning.”

We talk a bit more and I’m actually getting pretty comfortable with being around Andy again. Almost like no time has past and I can just slide into any conversation with him. I’m a bit thrown though when the inevitable question hits me since I kind of let my guard down through the jokes and memories.

“So, how’s Mikey?”  
“Um... w-well he’s been better I guess.” I pause and look to Brendon who thankfully interjects.  
“They’re not together anymore.”  
“Oh okay, well I mean, it’s alright. Was it recent?”  
“Yesterday.”

Andy’s eyebrows raise and he slowly nods in understanding. My legs make the executive decision that a trip to the bathroom is better than sitting in this awkward silence. I get up and tell them where I’m going, but neither seem to complain over this.

When I reach the bathroom I briskly walk to the handicap stall at the end and rest my hands on the basin. The Eagles play softly over the speakers, something about a tequila, and it brings me back to beach trips I haven’t thought of in a long time. It’s been around two years since I’ve been to the beach, maybe longer, but these types of slow songs always remind of them. 

Michael hadn’t really started critiquing my looks back then as much as he did later on. He wouldn’t be caught dead with me at the beach these days. I look down at my tight jacket, the same one I’d worn on our anniversary. He didn’t like that I hadn’t dressed up for the occasion, but I figured we were staying home anyway.

Everything reminds me of him, the music, my clothes, Hell even the light brown of the tiled wall makes me think back to the bedpost I’d been tied to. Tears slide from my eyes, but I don’t make a sound. I know this place is empty, but I can’t break down when Andy’s right outside the door.

If I walk out with a red face they’ll know I was crying. Andy can’t know how much of a pussy I am nowadays. I cry way too much, just like Sir said. I hardly ever cried back when I was hanging out with Andy. I don’t want to think like this anymore, but I always seem to slide back into this situation. I don’t think I’ll ever escape him, even when he’s miles away I’m still the one stuck with shaking hands and flushed cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got this posted, had to split it up since it was getting a bit too long. This also means that I’ve already started writing the next chapter though, so maybe we’ll actually post it on time.   
> Maybe.  
> Thanks for keeping up with this though, I always look forward to any comments or kudos.


End file.
